The Long Homecoming
by Jantallian
Summary: What if Jess had turned down Slim's offer of a job on the ranch and ridden on? The consequences might have been far-reaching in more ways than one. An exploration of one possible outcome, falling somewhere between the spooks of Halloween and the spirits of Christmas past, present and future.
1. Chapter 1

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 **The Long Homecoming**

Jantallian

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Before reading:

This story takes us on a very long ride from that moment below Baxter's Ridge in _Stage Stop._ I hope it has some unexpected twists and turns on the way and moments which will raise questions, not all of which are answered. If you would like to review (and I hope you will), please can you ask yourself before posting "Would I want to know this before I read the story?" If the answer is 'no', it helps other readers if you put some kind of warning or spoiler alert at the beginning of your review. Reviews of all kinds are welcome – I always reply to signed-in reviews and very rarely block a guest review. It's good to know what you think.

There are some references to earlier stories, including _Casket of Dreams, Encounter in Shadows and Starlight Reflections_ but this story was not written as an exact sequel. It is the AU where Mike does not replace Andy but joins the whole family - a family which, of course, expands and extends over the years.

A warning: in Chapter 10, one character is described as 'like a wild animal' and there are two instances of language about and from this character which are appropriate to that description.

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 **1**

 **1870, Fall**

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He struggled to his feet, feeling curiously light-headed, and stood for a moment, surveying the situation.

It was the usual aftermath of a gun battle. An overturned wagon, half-burnt out. Loose horses milling about. Bodies sprawled across the road, unmoving now.

There was a hat lying in the dust. A black hat with a silver band. _His_ hat.

He bent to pick it up. His hand seemed not to grasp it. As if his fingers went right through the material without him feeling a thing. Or as if the material went through him? Maybe bending down, so soon after that characteristic 'dive, roll and fire movement', combined with a very empty stomach, had made him feel dizzy?

Jess Harper shook his head, gave a shrug and dismissed the hat. There were plenty of hats in the world.

But there were not plenty of homes – how well he knew that! He berated himself now for a complete fool. _What had he been thinking of, to turn down Slim Sherman's offer of a place on the ranch when every fiber of his being was calling out for just such a home, a friendship, a family?_

He'd done so, of course, because he didn't feel worthy to join a life like his – reckless, dangerous, uncertain, rootless – to the stability of the household he had found so good and attractive in such a short acquaintance. He thought they, and especially young Andy, would be better off without him. At the time, he had ignored his own feelings and any potential for good in himself entirely.

This latest gunfight had certainly shown him the error of his ways. He hadn't even been fighting for pay - just ridden into town, seen a couple of kids, cowed and outnumbered, and had automatically gone in on the side of the underdog, determined to even the odds. He was in the thick of it almost before he had jumped from the saddle. Right as this might appear in the heat of the moment, it was a reckless attitude to live by, and fighting for pay was an even less commendable use of a whole lifetime. There were surely better ways! Despite his independence and liking for being his own boss, Jess had formed a deep, intuitive understanding with Slim Sherman as they had fought for justice together. It was a much better use of his skills than drifting from one job, one fight, to another. He had an inexplicable feeling, not just from their defeat of Bud Carlin but from somewhere further back in his past, that the tall rancher would always be on the side of justice. So no doubt life on the ranch would be as challenging as life on the drift – just different, more worthwhile, more meaningful.

That difference decided him.

 _If Slim would still have him, he was going back!_

Ignoring the results of the gun battle and the tentative advances of those who had to deal with the bodies, Jess strode over to where he had left Traveller. The star-faced bay was waiting patiently. The reins were flung round the saddle-horn, which had left the horse free to move out of the melee of the battle in need be. It seemed to take Jess some weary hauling to get himself into the saddle, quite unlike his usual quick hop up.

The north wind blew suddenly down the street, swirling the dust thickly like a blanket of snow and reminding him that, despite the lingering warmth of fall, winter was not so very far off. Jess shivered involuntarily. He turned in his tracks, heading south instead.

"Come on, Trav, we're goin' home!"

 **# # # # #**

It was already dark when he finally reached the Sherman Ranch and Relay Station once more. The road from the north was long, yet his eagerness to arrive at the place he already felt was 'home' had carried him swiftly over the intervening distance. The corrals and the barn were quiet and he guessed from the lights in the windows of the house that the three inhabitants were already at their evening meal.

Traveller was weary after so many miles, for Jess had barely rested in his urgency to get back. Attending to his horse first was automatic, so Jess led the bay into the barn and put him in the empty stall next to Slim's chestnut. The other horse snorted a startled greeting and seemed so surprised to see them Jess reckoned the humans might feel just the same. He didn't want to make free with the place until he was sure of his welcome. He'd leave Traveller saddled while he let them know he was back, just in case he was wrong and, worn-out as they were, they had to move on yet again.

It was this diffidence which took him not to the main door but to the side entrance through the kitchen – the way Andy had first taken him into the house. At the same time, though, it felt natural to come in this way at the end of a long day. It felt like something he'd be doing a lot, once he and Slim started working together.

He walked quietly through the kitchen, which was empty, so he figured Jonesy was busy serving up the meal. The murmur of voices reached him and he heard the front door bang.

Jonesy asked "Where's Andy run off to now?" and Slim replied "To get his coat from the barn before the puppies use it for a bed." The affectionate chuckles of both men warmed Jess's heart. Some folks would think Andy's habit of collecting stray animals was a nuisance and a waste of time, but here his skill and empathy with wild and tame creatures was accepted as a gift.

The door banged open again and Andy called something urgent, Jess couldn't quite make out what. There was the sound of chairs scraping and footsteps and a third thud of the door. By the time Jess had made it into the living room to ask what the heck was going on, it was empty.

He looked around. Soft lamplight and flickering firelight made the place warm and welcoming. Everything in the room was plain and simple, but serviceable. The curtains were drawn and a couple of rocking chairs pulled up to the fire. The table was laid ready and in the center of it reposed a saucepan of stew, which Jonesy must have put down when they'd all rushed out. Alongside was a big dish of apple pie.

Jess smiled. He recalled Andy serving him with pretty much the same meal not so long ago. Jonesy had evidently once been a chuck wagon cook and probably still didn't run to a lot of variety. It didn't matter. Jess was just grateful to be offered shelter and meals on a regular basis. Such was his appreciation that, even though he should be starving hungry like always, he was not tempted to raid the food. He was in any case just too weary. It would be so good to rest somewhere safe and permanent.

He was close to the rocking chair on the right of the fire. The one which faced the window. It seemed too far even to cross the hearth to the one on the other side. He'd just sit in the nearest and wait for them.

He sat down.

He dozed.

He drifted away.

 **# # # # #**

"Slim! Jonesy! Come quick!"

Andy Sherman burst through the front door of the ranch house, almost falling over himself in his urgency.

"What's up?"

His elder brother sprang to his feet in alarm. Andy sounded as if an Indian attack was imminent, although Slim knew from experience this was unlikely, given the current state of relations between settlers and natives locally.

"Come on!" Andy did not explain, just headed out into the dark yard as if the fiends of hell were after him.

Slim scowled and quashed this unfortunate comparison as soon as he had thought of it. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Jonesy. The old cook shook his head, but put down the saucepan of stew he was holding and followed Slim out into the night.

"Look!"

Andy was waiting for them at the door of the barn, where he'd gone to retrieve his jacket before supper. He was hopping impatiently from foot to foot and, as soon as they drew close, led them into the shadowy interior, which was lit only by a single lantern.

"Look!" he said again.

In the second stall next to Alamo, Slim's chestnut, there was a strange horse. No, not a strange horse. Andy soon disabused them of that misapprehension.

"It's Jess's horse. Traveller. But Jess isn't here! He told me …" Andy's voice was choked, "he told me they were partners. Traveller's been with him for years. He said he'd never part with him unless he _had_ to."

"He's still saddled." Slim moved forward to examine the horse. "Fetch some fresh water and feed, Andy. He looks like he's come a long way."

Even more than when Slim had first encountered Jess up by the lake, the animal looked done in. Wherever he had been since Slim and Jess parted on the road below Baxter's Ridge, the horse had evidently had a taxing journey. Slim moved into the stall and ran a gentle, cautious hand over the bay's neck. He could not imagine that Jess Harper would leave the animal unattended, unless some dire circumstance prevented him from caring for this most important companion of his wanderings.

 _So why was the horse here, now, in his barn - as if it belonged there?_

Slim had hoped against hope that Jess would change his mind, that he would forsake the open trail and a life of drifting and instead put down roots in this, the best cattle country in the territory. Much more than this, Slim had come to recognize that Andy's initial intuitive response to the young drifter was right. That here was someone who would be utterly loyal to those he gave his heart to. That a man should be judged not by his past but by how he built the future with his present actions.

Pulling himself back from useless recollection, Slim moved to unsaddle the horse. As he did so, he made an unexpected and unpleasant discovery. The leather of the saddle was stained with a large dark blotch. When he touched it, it was still faintly damp. Slim saw too that a bullet had left a shallow graze across the horse's quarters.

He drew in a hissing breath. "You've been lucky, old fellow!" A little lower and the bullet which made this wound could easily have lodged in the horse's spine. He looked up and saw Jonesy was already moving towards the shelves where he kept his famous lineament and salve for stock.

Just then Andy came back, staggering with two full pails of water. "He looks real thirsty, Slim!"

"Hold on a moment, Andy," Slim said gently. "Jonesy needs to see to him first."

Andy gasped and went pale under his tan. "Traveller's hurt?" His eyes followed Slim's gaze. "He stopped a bullet?"

"No, it just grazed him," Slim reassured him as he carefully removed Traveller's gear and put it down in the corner of the stall for the time being. But Andy's mind was already jumping to the conclusion Slim himself had formed.

"What's happened?" the boy demanded anxiously. "Where's Jess? He'd never leave Traveller like this! Never!" His first action on finding Traveller had been to call out eagerly to his friend, but there had been no reply, only the quiet noises of the sleepy barn.

"Ok, calm down," his elder brother told him as soothingly as he could when his own mind was racing with fear. "Traveller arrived here, so Jess must have been headed back towards us. He can't be far away or the horse would have strayed off somewhere along the road."

"Not if Jess told him to come here!" Andy asserted firmly. "He's trained Traveller from when he was young and wild. Jess can order him to do all sorts of things and he'll obey."

 _Young and wild! That certainly fitted the Jess Harper with whom Slim had shared such a brief but powerful encounter. He just hoped the recklessness he had sensed in the younger man had not led to disaster._

Slim's thoughts were broken into by Andy's increasingly frantic concern. "He's out there somewhere, Slim – I know it! He's hurt and on his own. You gotta find him! You just gotta!"

But Slim needed no persuading. As Jonesy moved into the stall to treat the injured horse, Slim was already saddling Alamo to go in search of the friend he had made and lost so soon.

' _I wanna make the next town before dark …'_

 _Where did you go, Jess? Way beyond Laramie, that seems certain._

And it was twelve long miles just to Laramie. Twelve miles in uncertain light. Twelve miles of rock and forest. Twelve miles with a thousand places a wounded man could crawl into for shelter.

 _Where are you, Jess?_

Once he had left the lamp-lit buildings behind and his eyes had adjusted to the fitful patches of moonlight, Slim searched as far down the road as he was able in the darkness. His night-vision was excellent, but of no avail. There was no sign of a fight and no trace of Traveller's trail on the well-used road. It was long after midnight when he finally reached home again with the bad news. One thought was in all three hearts.

 _Where are you, Jess? Please come home!_

 **# # # # #**

Jess roused with a smile on his lips. He could feel all their concern, their love for him, their longing for him to come safely home. It wrapped around him like a warm blanket of comfort, like a strong arm which promised support, like the knowledge that your back was always covered. He had never relied on anyone else, even though he had had working partnerships and passing friendships in his wanderings. He could hardly remember a time when he had not essentially been on his own. Now, suddenly, he was not alone any more. He didn't need to be and it felt good!

He must have dozed for longer than he thought, for the meal had been cleared away and Jonesy was halfheartedly trying to persuade Andy to go to bed. They'd accepted him into the family so completely that they'd even let him sleep while they got on with the business of the evening.

"I ain't goin' till Slim gets back!" Andy asserted roundly. "And you can't make me, Jonesy!"

Jess wondered where Slim had gone off to. He didn't remember hearing anything said, but Andy and Jonesy were obviously concerned. Jonesy pointed out that if Andy was going to burn a midnight candle, he could get on with studying his books and thus stave off some of his elder brother's wrath at taking liberties with his bedtime. Andy evidently thought this was a wise precaution and settled down quietly at the desk, soon to be absorbed in his reading. Jonesy disappeared into the kitchen, whence soft domestic noises presently issued.

Not wishing to interfere with Jonesy's authority or disturb either of them without good cause, Jess decided he would see sneak out and see if he could find out what Slim was up to. He went out soundlessly. No-one seemed to notice. He'd check the barn first and finish taking care of his horse; his conscience smote him as he thought of Traveller patiently waiting to be unsaddled and fed. _How tired could he have been to neglect that!_

The big lamp on the barn beam had been extinguished and all was quiet for the night. Traveller was lying down, sound asleep, but Jess could see that someone, Andy probably, had taken care of his mount. The kindness brought a lump to his throat. They must have realized how the long road back had exhausted man and horse. He decided Traveller could not possibly take him any further that night, but it might be alright to borrow a mount from the corral or near pasture if he was searching for Slim.

Outside the wind was blowing down from the north, raising wraiths of dust and lifting the fallen leaves like a drifting shroud. Jess decided it was unlikely Slim had headed down the road to Cheyenne, not so late in the day. It was more probable that he had gone into Laramie for some urgent reason. He was expected back and if he could return in an evening, he could not have intended to travel much further.

 _Maybe he'd like some company on the road home?_

Jess grinned to himself as he headed for Laramie once again. He could imagine riding home with Slim after a night on the town, always supposing the blonde rancher could be tempted to drink? He sure hoped so! _Slim was straitlaced, but he darn' well better not be that straitlaced!_ He definitely didn't think Slim had gone drinking on his own tonight, though, because Andy and Jonesy would not have been so concerned and sitting up waiting for him. No, it was something urgent, but not so demanding that he could not return the same night.

 _Ok, Slim my friend, y' ain't doin' this on y' own._

This principle was a major part of Jess's certainty of home – the knowledge that neither of them would have to be alone any more. He had sensed, once he had got over his initial angry misunderstanding, that Slim bore a heavy burden of responsibility for the ranch and his younger brother and probably for Jonesy too. Slim was obviously law-abiding and conscientious and no doubt spent a good deal of time worrying about the work and the income of the spread. The mere fact that he had taken on a stage company franchise argued he was in need of money, but also that he was reliable enough to be trusted with the efficient running of a relay station.

At this thought, Jess smiled again. Not only was he himself a hard worker, who could make a real contribution to lessening Slim's burdens, but he could also ensure the older brother didn't get so swamped in his responsibilities that he never had any fun! Andy on the other hand, with whom Jess had found a real kindred spirit, was perfectly capable of generating fun of his own to share with others.

 _But Slim Sherman needs Jess Harper's expertise and experience! Ok, where've y' got to?_

Almost in an instant, it seemed, Jess found himself catching up with Slim. The other man had obviously reached whatever point he had been heading for and turned back towards the ranch, but there was no indication of what he had been doing. It was all very mysterious! As the distance between them closed, Jess saw that Slim was not watching the road, but, as far as was humanly possible, was scouring both sides of it as if he was searching for something. This made Jess chuckle, since he had been searching just as hard for his new boss.

 _Where are you, Jess?_

The words were faint vibrations in the swirling of the air. The wind whipped a pall of dust around Jess, enveloping him like a cloak, giving him the appearance of some figure from an old legend. He was a shadow within the shadows.

Slim started violently and pulled his chestnut to a halt.

"Jess? Is that you?"

The pain and concern in his voice seemed to drive right through Jess, piercing him where his very heart should be. But before he could respond or move closer out of the shadows, Slim shook his head and urged his horse towards home. As his friend rode past in the darkness, Jess heard him mutter to himself, "Wishful thinking! I won't find him tonight, not in the dark. Maybe he'll be waiting safe at home anyway?"

With that, without taking a further glance in Jess's direction, the rancher spurred his horse into a gallop, despite the darkness and the roughness of the road. There was something of Jess's own recklessness in Slim's obvious urgency.

Jess, however, was never one to ignore a challenge. _If Slim wants t' find me back at the ranch, I sure am gonna get there first! That top road is quicker and less ruts._

No sooner said than done, it appeared. Then, with a patience he had never demonstrated before, Jess hung around the barn, waiting for Slim to catch up and arrive back at the ranch.

When he finally did so, Slim stopped his horse at the hitching rail, flung the reins over and strode wearily into the house.

Jess followed him.

Andy jumped up from the desk, eager hope written all over his face. Jonesy raised much more sceptical eyes from the newspaper he was attempting to read. Slim shook his head.

"Nothing."

"But Slim," Andy gave a heartbroken wail. "He's got to be –"

"There's nothing more I can do tonight, Andy. I'll backtrack all the way into Laramie in the morning and try to find out if anyone spotted a riderless horse. I need you to sleep now because you and Jonesy'll have to deal with the stages tomorrow. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure, Slim!" Andy had mastered himself and was showing commendable maturity as he made his way at once to the bedroom. In the doorway he turned and said, "I sure hope you're gonna get some good news."

Slim walked over and ruffled his hair affectionately. "We'll do everything we can to find Jess and bring him safely home," he stated firmly. "That's a promise!"

Jonesy followed Andy into the bedroom and Slim went out to deal with his horse.

Jess sank once more into the rocking chair. Things were beginning to clarify in his mind.

 _That sure was one hellava bargain I struck just now!_

 **# # # # #**

Breakfast the next morning took place along with the dawn. It was subdued affair.

Slim had been up almost as early as Jonesy and had finished the essential tasks in the barn and yard. In this he was ably assisted by a sleepy but determined Andy. The look of hope on the boy's face, dashed so soon when he found Jess had not turned up mysteriously in the night, cut Slim to the heart. _As if his heart wasn't sore enough already with his own loss. How had a drifting stranger managed to earn such a place in it in so short a time?_ He couldn't tell, but he knew in the depths of his being that the ranch was not complete without Jess Harper.

One thought was in all three minds this morning.

 _Where are you, Jess? Please come back!_

No-one had the appetite to eat much either. Jonesy had anticipated this, plus the need for speed, and given them just essentials to keep them going through the day of searching.

"I'll ask the drivers," he told Slim. "Maybe there'll be word along the road someplace he's bin."

"Yeah. And I had a thought during the night. I met him up by the lake and he said Traveller hated the ruts on the main road. Maybe he came that way."

Andy's face lit up at this obvious solution. "I'll go look!"

Slim made a lightning decision. Despite his instinct to protect his little brother, it would do Andy so much good to take definite action instead of being at home imagining the worst. "OK. Once the first stage has been through, you ride up and check out this side of the top road and the lake. I'll go into Laramie and see what I can find out. Then, if there's still no news, I'll come back by the top road and cover the other half."

"Great!" Andy suddenly developed an appetite for breakfast after all.

Jonesy and Slim exchanged worried glances. They both knew what a challenge this search would be. Nonetheless, there was nothing they would not try in order to find Jess. It was as if his physical return to the ranch was wrapped up intimately in its family fortunes and the prosperity of the whole enterprise. Neither of them could give an immediate reason for such an instinct; it was just the need which drove them. The immense difficulty of how they were to achieve this without the slightest knowledge of where Jess had gone or what he had done, did not deter them in the least. And until they found some definite answer, they would spend hours, days, if they had to.

It was mid-morning when Andy returned to the ranch with a heavy heart. Despite careful searching – and a young boy knew very well all the secret hiding places and shelters in the vicinity of the ranch – he had found nothing. Not so much as a strand of horse-hair or a recent hoof-mark. The day would drag on now in meaningless routine until Slim returned.

Slim, meanwhile, had conducted another careful ride into Laramie, keeping his eyes peeled and finding not so much as a strand of horse-hair flagging up a thicket nor a recent hoof-mark deviating from the beaten track. When eventually he reached the town, he rode into the Livery Stables.

"You have anyone put up here yesterday?"

Walt Haber shrugged and gave a wry chuckle. "This is a livery stable, Slim."

"Yeah, I know. I need to find a horse." Slim was so intent on his quest that it seemed everyone must be able to read his thoughts.

"You gotter horse," Walt pointed out.

"Another horse. Little bay with a white star. Quarter Horse. Tough. Traveled a long way."

Walt shook his head.

"Maybe you'd remember the rider? Young man, lean, a little shorter than me. Dark curly hair, the brightest blue eyes you've ever seen. Tough. Drifter. Traveled a long way."

"Like his horse?" Walt chuckled again. "I'd remember the horse, Slim. For the man you'd best try the saloon or the hotel."

Slim tried the hotel. No-one answering Jess's description had ever registered, or so the clerk said. It had never seemed likely anyway: Jess Harper had not looked flush with spare cash, but he obviously would have had no difficulty in winning more at poker. Slim headed for the saloon.

It was past midday, so there was probably some perverse logic in the fact that gaming and drinking were already well underway, judging by the noise emanating through the bat-wing doors. As Slim strode up to them he heard Freddie the barman admonishing one of his most regular customers: "That's enough now, Abner. Y' talkin' no sense at all. Get along home with y' 'n sleep it off!"

There was something of a scuffle and the next moment an elderly man tottered out straight into Slim's arms. They both swayed alarmingly at the impact until Slim managed to exert his strength to keep them upright.

"Going home, Abner?" he inquired breathlessly.

"Threw me out! Threw me out!" the old man mumbled. "Said I was making it up! Me! I never did. My pa'll take his belt to me if I ever tell lies!"

Since Abner's father was long since peacefully in his grave, this apprehension seemed misplaced. The old man continued to mutter to himself, not making, as Freddie had pointed out, a great deal of sense. Slim was, however, a kindhearted young man and patiently steered Abner in the direction of his little shack, round the back of the hotel.

"As if I'd lie," Abner asserted feebly. "I saw it. Saw it with my own eyes."

"You did?" Slim responded soothingly. "What did you see?"

"Saw a bay horse coming down the street. At nightfall. Coming from the north it was. Bay horse with a white star on its forehead."

"You saw it?" Slim's heart was in his mouth, but he tried to keep calm. "Why wouldn't they believe you?"

"A bay horse," the old man continued, "tough little thing it was. Covered in trail dust and sweat but kept right on going south."

"Was there a rider?"

"No rider that I could see," Abner replied.

Slim's heart sank. "So why won't anyone believe you?" It didn't make sense, any more than Abner ever did when he'd had a skinful.

"It was travelling fast - faster than the wind," Abner told him.

 _Well, it probably looked that way to a drunk!_ Slim thought.

"Faster than the wind," the old man repeated. Then he stopped and leaned towards Slim, his whiskey-sodden breath gusting into the young man's ear. "But here's the thing. That horse was travelling faster than the wind. But its legs – they were just ambling, slow, like you'd do on a long journey."

There was a pause while they both thought about this statement.

Abner said quietly, almost to himself, "Gave me a right shock it did. Ambling and moving like the wind at the same time. And it was gone in no time too, because I turned round to call into the saloon right behind me for them to come see and when I looked back it had vanished. Like the wind!" The thought was uncannily persistent. "Just had to have a double shot for the shock!" Abner added.

 _No wonder they didn't believe him!_

Slim steered the old man home and safely in his door. As he walked back towards the main street he was thinking hard and by the time he reached the Sheriff's Office he had also reached a decision.

"Abner saw the horse. Coming from the north. With no rider," Sheriff Mort Cory stated as he leaned back in his chair. He liked to get his facts straight. "And it was travelling fast."

"So Abner said."

"Slim, it's the tale of an old drunk in the dark. One who's been in and out of the saloon all day." Mort looked at his young friend with affectionate skepticism. "What are you asking me to do?"

"Check the towns to the north. Anyone you've got contacts with. Jess was coming home, but only his horse made it."

Mort's eyebrows shot up. He'd met the young drifter briefly when the posse had been cleaning up Bud Carlin and his henchmen. A wild young man, if Mort's experience of men was anything to go by, and one whose past probably didn't bear too much close scrutiny. Yet even this passing interaction had suggested something more – Harper had backed up Slim Sherman without even knowing him and, if Slim's account was anything to go by, acted with integrity and courage. Without his accurate shooting, the outcome might have been very different for Slim.

"Home?" the Sheriff asked curiously.

"I offered him a place on the ranch, but he turned it down and rode on," Slim responded simply. "I hoped he'd change his mind, once he'd had time to think about it. Apparently he did."

"But only his horse arrived?"

When Slim nodded, obviously not wanting to voice this potentially tragic news again, Mort found himself agreeing to help.

"Give me a couple of days and I'll do my best to get news for you."

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Notes:

HABER - German, occupational name for one who grew or sold oats, derived from Old High German 'habaro' = oat


	2. Chapter 2

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 **2**

 **1870, Fall and Winter**

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"It ain't good news!"

Jonesy took one look at Mort's face and stumped off into the bedroom to fetch his 'medicinal' whiskey.

"Don't tell me. Save y' breath till the boys get back." He dumped the bottle in the middle of the table and poured Mort a strong cup of coffee. As he did so, a curious tremor passed through them both. Jonesy was remembering how Jess Harper had relished to a good strong cup of coffee. Mort was just … fey?

The sound of hooves in the yard distracted them from this strange experience. Jonesy went to the window and looked out.

"They're back!"

Mort took a gulp of hot coffee and steeled himself for the next few minutes. He was no stranger to breaking this kind of news to families around the area but it never became any easier. He caught at his thoughts as he did so. He had thought 'family'. Jess Harper was family to the Shermans and Mort had accepted this without a moment's hesitation.

He did not hesitate for a moment either when Slim and Andy came in. They'd have recognized his horse outside and known that he must have come with some kind of an answer. Slim took one look at Mort's face and put his arm round Andy, pulling him close.

"Tell us!"

"I telegraphed north as far as I could. Messages got passed. One came through from a doctor in Coulson. There was a shoot-out there. Mining feud of some kind. Ended up with a gun-battle in the main street. A stranger rode into the middle of it. A young man on a bay horse. Never hesitated, apparently. He saw a couple of youngsters badly outnumbered, dived off his horse, rolled and fired. He'd taken down three of the opposition before the stray bullet, which hit him while he was still jumping from the saddle, finally killed him. It was a complete fluke that he was shot at all. When they came to pick up the bodies, his horse was gone."

Slim frowned. "The horse had gone."

"Yes. No-one saw it go, but they had plenty else to deal with."

Andy made a choked sound and Slim hugged him closer, but did not try to gloss over the truth. "And you're sure it's him?"

"Dark hair, blue eyes, five foot eleven, hundred and sixty pounds, early twenties."

Slim's head bowed. "So he's buried in Coulson?"

"No," Mort told them. "They've had a long dry spell this fall and just recently some days of bitter frost up there. The ground's rock hard. They haven't been able to bury anyone for a week."

"Then we're bringing him home! Go telegraph this doctor, Mort. I'm on my way!"

 **# # # # #**

"He y' brother, mister?"

"Yeah!"

Slim stood looking down at the still figure in the coffin. The dark hair was a little tousled, the blue eyes gently closed, that slight lopsided smile shaping the lips. There was no sign of any wound. Jess looked as if he was asleep. Dreaming. A happy dream.

"No. I mean, he's my friend. Close as a brother."

How he knew this was true, Slim could not tell. The blacksmith, who doubled as the undertaker, was regarding him curiously.

"Ain't many drifters get claimed. Usually have t' bury 'em nameless."

"His name's Jess. And I'm taking him home!"

 **# # # # #**

They buried him in the family plot, on the hillside above the ranch house, alongside Matt and Mary Sherman, and their sons who had not survived to manhood. Not in the distant graveyard alongside the road to Baxter's Ridge, but home, where he had been bound with all his will, where he had sent his horse ahead as messenger.

 _Ma would have liked Jess,_ Slim reflected as he leaned on the spade and paused a while in digging the cold earth. Winter had traveled on their heels, coming in fits and starts from the north, but the ground was still reasonably soft, soft enough to make a welcoming bed. _She'd have wanted to hug him, feed him and patch him up after the fights he'd inevitably get into!_ Slim just knew Jess was a fighter: it had been written in every inch of his lean body from the first moment they'd met by the lake to the climax of the gun-battle with Carlin.

 _Pa'd take his time. Weigh his worth_ _as a man and a worker as well as a fighter._ Slim was also certain his pa would ultimately have found Jess worthy of trust, of being a member of their family.

Presently they carried up the coffin, Mort and Slim together with the stage driver, Mose, and an old teamster, Smudge, who were good friends of the family. They'd never met Jess, but they were willing to honor his going because he mattered to the Shermans.

 _Except, somehow, Slim could not feel that Jess had gone. His lively presence was as real as his horse in the barn._

When they had lowered the coffin into the grave, Andy sprinkled some more twigs of rosemary on to it, the aromatic scent striking their nostrils with a sudden sharpness which brought tears to the eyes. Andy had put some inside the coffin too. Slim let him see Jess, because the young drifter looked so peaceful, so content, much more than he had done when he was fighting for justice or setting his face to the open trail.

"Jonesy says rosemary is for remembrance," Andy explained. "I want Jess to know we'll never forget him. He'll always be one of our family."

Now the priest would say words over the grave which would affirm Jess's right to be remembered and cherished. Slim was not really sure what he believed about eternal life and in any case was too preoccupied with his own feelings to take much notice of the actual words the man was using.

Until, suddenly and totally unexpectedly, those words struck a poignant, piercing blow.

" _A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity_." **…**

 **…...**

 **…** Suddenly he was standing in the smoke and confusion of a burning camp as his Union company was attacked by Rebel raiders, swift and deadly as wolves. He was watching one of his own side, Sergeant Danny Guerra, set free the Rebel prisoner he had been ordered to guard. Slim could not see the face of the younger of the two men as they stood staring at each other, only his silhouette against the flickering light of the flames – just as he had seen Jess silhouetted against the skyline of Baxter's Ridge.

The tension vibrating between the two soldiers was palpable. To Slim's utter surprise, the boy flung his arms round the man in a desperate hug. Guerra had to break the embrace, hold him off at arms' length. With sudden clarity Slim saw the similarity between them. In height and build Guerra was the bigger and much more muscular of the two, but if the boy had been better fed and Guerra had not been clad in a concealing uniform, the resemblance would have been inescapable. There was no mistaking their braced stance, ready for action like a mountain cat waiting to strike and kill – the broad shoulders flung back – the line of their sinewy bodies, vibrating with latent power and endurance.

And unquestionably the ties of kinship overrode the dictates of a civil war. It was a deep family loyalty which spoke to Slim's own heart and so, when the young prisoner had made a spectacular escape as he was swept up by two horsemen of his own troop, Slim did not report Guerra to the increasingly insane Captain who commanded them both. Instead he himself had spoken those exact same words to Guerra and received the assurance that the Rebel was indeed "a brother born of the same blood."

That was not the end of the encounter. Slim had tried to help the older brother to endure the torture unjustly inflicted upon him and had inadvertently become part of his rescue by the Rebel raiders. He had actually been restrained during this escape by the younger brother; he had never seen the youngster's face but remembered vividly the sense of lean power and the faint scent of sweat and leather, and a tang of cigarette smoke and some desert herb. Now he realized that he had subconsciously recognized exactly those physical characteristics when he and Jess were wrestling before Carlin interrupted them.

Taking down Carlin was the _second_ battle for justice which they had fought together. Although during that first dark and brutal encounter they had never spoken or looked each other in the face, their actions had foreshadowed the brotherhood they were destined to share.

 _Jess, it was you!_

And now Jess was no longer a drifter without a name anyone cared about or a home anyone welcomed him into, for memory had gifted Slim with his full name and a deeper understand of who he really was and where he belonged **…**

 **…...**

 **…** Now, standing over Jess's grave, Slim remembered how, when the Union troops had been ordered to withdraw to the North, he had seen a distant Rebel rider, silhouetted on the horizon behind them. Immediately Slim had felt the strong intuitive pull of the tie which had made him a brother in adversity to both the Guerras. He had raised his arm in a spontaneous salute of farewell and almost in the same instant the distant rider raised his arm too. A long, low, guttural cry had vibrated through the still air. A word or words in an unknown language, but whose meaning Slim understood.

Now, remembering, he responded silently with the ancient words of parting, words Slim had said as he had turned his horse from his new brothers and set his face to the north.

Now he cried in his heart: _God be with you, Jess Guerra Harper._

There was only a little left to be done. They shoveled back the dark earth and firmed up the mound over the grave. It would be a while before the ground settled and a headstone could be put in place – next spring, maybe – but Slim already knew the words it would bear.

Back in the house, they shared a quiet midday meal with their friends. Jonesy hadn't made anything special; at Andy's request he served the same meal which he had given Jess the day he arrived at the relay station. Afterwards the work of the ranch resumed as normal. Life flowed inwards and onwards, filling the gap they all felt, filling it as if Jess had actually returned vital and willing, as he intended.

Andy was surprised at how content he felt. His heart was often shot with pain and grief, which brought to the surface as well the deeply buried emotions he had faced in losing his father and his mother not so very long ago. But at the same time, he was glad that Jess was with them, looking down over them and all the things which would happen on the ranch.

He enjoyed caring for Traveller too. The horse so obviously missed his master and, once he had recovered from the exhaustion of his long journey, had been restless and dejected by turns. Slim's chestnut, Alamo, who was not the easiest around other horses, had taken a liking to the sturdy bay and often hung over the partition, rubbing his soft muzzle against his neighbor. It was a few days until the horse was sufficiently rested and healed. Once they were able to turn Traveller out to get some grass and some exercise, it was a joy to watch how he and Alamo bucked and frolicked and raced round the pasture, before settling down side by side for a good graze.

It was when Andy brought the horses in at dusk that it happened. He'd stalled them both, although Traveller needed little guiding, but made his way loose into his own stall, going ahead of Andy and Alamo as if he were being led. Andy lit the big barn lantern, for darkness fell swiftly at this time of year. He hung it up from the hook on the beam.

As he turned back towards the first two stalls, he thought he saw a flicker of movement. It was unlikely anyone would sneak into the barn, but not impossible. Andy should have gone to fetch Slim. Instead he picked up the rifle leaning against the wall.

"Who's there!"

The only sound and movement was the horses drinking from the buckets he'd set ready for them.

Andy advanced cautiously. Alamo turned a puzzled head. His stall was empty of any intruder. Andy moved on to Traveller's. As he did so, the horse bent his knees and folded down to settle comfortably in the straw.

"J – Jess? Is that you?"

There was someone sitting in the corner, sitting in the straw close by the horse's head.

Andy froze in joyful shock, then automatically lowered the rifle and leaned it against the wall. No way would he point it at Jess! His instinct was to run, shout, hug his friend, but something held him back. He stepped slowly and quietly into the stall, not wanting to disturb the tranquility which he was sure Jess had often shared with his horse, just like this.

There was no-one there. Just a faint, sharp scent in the air that might have been … rosemary?

Making soothing noises to Traveller, Andy edged his way right into the corner, where he thought he had seen Jess sitting.

 _Of course he couldn't have seen him sitting there. He knew perfectly well that Jess was in a coffin under six feet of good Wyoming earth, up on the hill, with the others of the Sherman family._

Nonetheless, Andy crouched down in the straw, strangely drawn by the need to search. As soon as he was low enough, he saw them - Jess's saddlebags, which had been unbuckled from his saddle and somehow got shoved under the manger in the flurry of activity when Traveller came back alone. Straw had heaped over them and, because the routine of the relay station had been sorely disrupted, no-one had noticed them until now.

 _Or had he been guided to them?_

Andy murmured, "I'm gonna take these inside, Jess, if it's OK?"

He didn't really expect an answer nor did he get one. Only a soft draft brushed his cheek, warm and feather-light in the cool air, and faintly scented with herbs.

 **# # # # #**

"I found Jess's saddlebags in Traveller's stall," Andy explained as he dumped them on the table. "D'you think it would be ok to look through them? There might be a clue about what happened." The little speech ended in a gulp and what was almost a sniffle, except that he valiantly tried to live up to a more heroic standard.

Slim looked up from the bookkeeping he was doing and swiveled round in his chair. "Sure, Andy. Good idea. Jess won't be using them anymore and it's not like you can ask his permission." He was proud of his brother for still considering what was personal and private.

"I already did," Andy murmured absently as he began to unbuckle the first flap. "I think he said 'yes', but I wanted you to say 'ok' too."

The saddlebags contained no clues, other than what Jess's life had been like. In the first there was a good supply of ammunition, together with the tools for refilling shells – a spare knife – a horseshoe and nails - two cooking pans, with stored in them a tin plate and mug, fork and spoon – matches, flint and tinder wrapped in oilskin – some jerky, dried rabbit and hard biscuit – two wizened apples – cigarette papers and a tobacco pouch - a little coffee. In the other, a rolled leather cape – working shirt and pants – spare bandannas and a pair of black leather gloves - some darned socks and underwear – towel, soap and razor - a good shirt, tie and pants wrapped in another threadbare towel – the deck of cards he had used to teach Andy - and right at the bottom, a small parcel, tightly rolled in oilskin, sealed with beeswax.

Andy drew out the last item very carefully. Something told him it must be precious if Jess had wrapped it so thoroughly and hidden it deep at the bottom of the bag. He laid it gently on the table. Slim rose quietly and Jonesy got up from the couch. They joined Andy at the table.

"Shall I?"

All three of them looked at each other, hesitant to break into something so intimately personal.

Andy sniffed suddenly. "There's a smell of … something like herbs, like rosemary, only not quite …" His voice trailed away as he tried to analyse it.

"Open it," Slim suggested gently.

Andy drew a deep breath and ran his fingernail under the beeswax seal of the little parcel. It had evidently been rolled tightly for a long time and the oilskin crackled a little as it was stretched out.

Inside there was material. White material. A white silk shirt. And in the center, upon the breast, a little spray of dried leaves, bound with a deep blue thread of wool, as bright as the day it had been tied.

Jonesy stretched out a gentle finger and touched the leaves one by one. "These petals are violets – they mean loyalty. This is sage – for wisdom – and thyme – for courage." He paused, his breath hitching as they all took in the symbolism of the little bouquet. "This last is oregano and it stands for joy!"

They were silent, gazing at the message of encouragement and inspiration which someone, somewhere, had given Jess. A message so important he had preserved it and carried it everywhere on his wanderings.

Andy delicately picked up the spray of herbs and placed it aside. He lifted the silk shirt and shook it out. Slim instantly recognised that it could not possibly be a shirt Jess could have worn recently. The memory of the broad shoulders and powerful muscles and strong back with which he had wrestled put paid to any notion that this fragile, slender shirt would have fitted the tough drifter. It was the shirt of a boy on the threshold of manhood.

"Loyalty and wisdom and courage and joy," Andy repeated softly.

"Plenty for a growin' boy to aim for," Jonesy said equally softly.

"And to honor," Slim agreed.

Unprompted and instinctively they all three bowed their heads in respect for the standards which someone unknown had nonetheless shared with them and integrated into Jess's life. No wonder he had been destined to fit naturally into the life of the Sherman ranch. Just such ideals, albeit in another form, Slim had shared with his own father as they labored to establish a new life in this best of all territories.

 **# # # # #**

The new way of life certainly took some getting used to. For a start, Jess found out almost immediately that it was useful to have some anchor-points, where he could remain at rest without having to think about it.

Traveller was of course the main one of these. The long fellowship between horse and rider meant that the bay was the first mortal being Jess had connected with, even before he realized what he was doing. Now Jess could always return to his horse and would stay in the corner of the stall, content and secure, as he had done so many times on the trail when he had slept curled up against Traveller's warm bulk. Traveller just accepted Jess's new behavior with the calm understanding he had given to all they had been through together.

Jess quickly realized, after his experience of finding Slim on the first night, that he could locate his friend anywhere, anytime, without difficulty. He did not hesitate to call the blond rancher 'friend' because that was what they were and, more than this, it was a brotherhood which had been born in the cauldron of war and grew ever stronger the longer they were together. Jess also found he could go with Slim when he left the ranch for any reason, just being alongside him, being in his company as work and business and rare times of leisure came round. As long as he was with Slim, Jess felt securely anchored in the world. Surprisingly this was less so with Andy, despite the empathy between them and Jess's desire to watch over him. Slim and Jess were friends, brothers, partners – a tie forged in the grim necessities of war and the shared struggle for justice against evil. There were few greater or more eternal bonds than this.

Very soon on, Jess also became accustomed to settling in the rocking chair, the one he had dozed in that very first night. Here he was at the hearth-heart of the family, able to be with them as they went about all the little tasks of daily life which were carried out indoors. In the chair, he was less likely to disturb them by being in the way and when they needed the chair he could be at the table, where Andy had first shown him hospitality and friendship.

Andy was, as always, the most sensitive of the family. He would often look up and smile in Jess's direction and sometimes, when he was feeling particularly misunderstood, he would pour out his feelings. But this did not happen as often as it once had. The manner of Jess's return had taught Andy an important lesson in life and focused his restlessness in a more profitable direction. He was working hard at his schooling, having realised that Slim's determination for him to better himself was not unreasonable. Change was happening apace in society, business and industry, science and engineering and in the whole nation. There was a palpable sense of an expanding world, full of limitless possibilities. If Andy wanted to be part of them, he needed every bit of skill and knowledge he could gain. Most of all, he could feel quiet encouragement and approval as he sat studying in the evenings and when he willingly took his share of the work with Slim, as Jess would have done.

Slim himself, in the time after they brought Jess to his final home, thought of him just as being in the little graveyard above the house. He'd formed the habit of going up there most days, at the end of the day, to think through what had been achieved and what still needed to be done. Sometimes he was surprised by the clarity of his decisions and the resolution of his problems, almost as though he had talked them through with his trusted friend. He found himself murmuring quietly aloud, as if he was being heard, and at the end he'd give thanks and feel a benediction reach him.

Jonesy just said Jess was in every pot of coffee brewed – and woe betide if it wasn't good and strong! In the quiet moments when he was alone in the ranch house and his tasks were finished, Jonesy'd sometimes find he was standing with his hand on the back of the rocking chair, the one facing the window, and sensing a faint warmth, a vibration running through it. But Jonesy was in the winter of his years and making his peace with the continuity of time and eternity.

The glow of fall gradually faded into the clarity of winter and the land began to put itself to sleep. One evening Slim came down from the graveyard, brushing the snowflakes off his shoulders as he entered the house.

Andy looked up from laying the table and said gently, "You don't have to go up there to talk to Jess, y'know."

Slim blushed, as if he was guilty of something, although he had not hidden his habit from the others. "Yeah?" he questioned softly.

"You'd be warmer in the barn, in Trav's stall," Andy pointed out.

"I guess so. Can't get closer than a man and his horse," Slim agreed simply.

Andy nodded. He looked across the room to the rocking chair and said, "He's there sometimes, too."

Jess gave a silent chuckle at this. A couple of nights ago, Slim had unexpectedly decided to sit in the right-hand rocking chair for once and although Jess was only too glad to be close to his friend, having him sitting in his lap was closer than either of them would want!

"How d'you make that out?" Slim's tone mixed surprise with skepticism and a tinge of hope.

"Sometimes there's a scent of herbs."

"Rosemary?"

Andy shook his head. "No. The other one, the one Jonesy said meant 'joy'."

"Oregano?"

"Yeah. That's the one."

"You're just smelling it because the bunch in the parcel gets warm from the fire." Slim was recalling how, after some debate, they had put Jess's shirt, still carefully wrapped with the herbs, and his gunfighter's gun into the lead-lined secret compartment their pa had built into the chimney breast.

"No!" Andy was vehement but still gentle. "It's much sharper, purer, like when you've just picked it. And it doesn't last for long. As if –" he hesitated and then confided: "- as if it's just to let us know he's around."

Slim nodded slowly. Andy was so obviously sincere. He'd have to keep an open mind. Meanwhile – yeah - the barn sounded a lot more comfortable than a snowy graveyard.

.

* * *

.

Notes:

The incident during the Civil War, when Slim and Jess met but did not recognize each other, is told in _Encounter in Shadows. '_ Guerra _'_ was Dan and Jess's mother's maiden name and the full family surname was 'Guerra Harper'. Dan dropped the last part of his name when he joined the Union army as a spy, in order to minimize his Confederate connections.

" _A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity_." Proverbs 17:17

The premise on which this story is based, that the spirit remains close to places it knows and loves for a brief period after death before moving on, comes from the experiences I and others among my family and friends have had.


	3. Chapter 3

.

.

 **3**

 **1873, Spring**

.

"I like that cowboy," Mike Williams declared casually, as he forked up a good mouthful of the big salmon he and Andy had caught. A growing eight-year-old boy was always hungry. "He said I shouldn't worry about you deciding you didn't want me to be family. 'Cos once a Sherman gives a promise, it's for life."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him. Then Slim, Andy and Jonesy looked at each other. They were still getting used to the unexpectedness of this eight-year-old's reactions.

"What cowboy?" Slim asked equally casually.

"The one in the barn. He brings in the bay horse with a white star – Traveller, isn't it? - and puts him in the stall next to Alamo sometimes." Mike snagged another slice of bread, smiling innocently when Jonesy frowned at his manners. "Sorry! Great bread, Jonesy."

"Great appetite," the old man commented. He was thinking of another boy – or at any rate, a boy in his eyes – another stray with an equally big appetite. Just for a moment he thought he caught a sharp whiff of … oregano. He looked over to the rocking chair. Slim and Andy's attention was riveted on Mike.

"I like him, because -" Mike continued simply. "- he says this is a good home."

"I'm glad," Slim smiled.

"It is a good home. For you and me both!" Andy assured the other boy. He had soon discovered what fun it was to have another youngster on the ranch, even though he himself was away at his schooling for a good part of the year. Andy was delighted Slim would have some lively company to keep him on his toes!

Whether Slim would have put it in quite that way was another matter. Since Mike had been left at the ranch, a disheveled, distraught orphan with nothing more than the clothes he stood up in, and those seriously tattered, Slim's parenting skills had been challenged in numerous ways. Not least, he'd had to cope with Mike's recurrent nightmares about the massacre in which he had lost his parents. Slim had been both compassionate and patient, comforting the boy night after night and overcoming his own lack of sleep as he tackled the heavy workload of each following day. The occasional hands who helped him out were not a patch on what Jess would have been. Yet Slim felt a constant flow of strength and encouragement as he continued to confide in his friend nearly every evening. Naturally he had shared his concerns for the happiness of the newest member of the family. And Mike's nightmares had eased off recently, for which Slim was grateful on both their accounts. Could it be that …?

"He understood," Mike told them seriously. He thought a little and added: "He lost his whole family in a fire."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He couldn't hardly remember a time when he hadn't been on his own," Mike said absently, for most of his full attention was on the cheese reposing temptingly in the middle of the table rather than on the conversation.

Andy heaved in a breath and half-whispered to Slim and Jonesy. "That's what Jess said to me, the first day. He said you get used to it."

"Well, Mike won't have to get used to being alone," Slim assured them all. "This is his home and we're his family and we're the ones who'll look after him. Have some cheese, Mike."

Mike grinned and happily cut himself a good hunk. Something about the conversation he'd had with the dark-haired, blue-eyed cowboy had reinforced utterly the knowledge that the Sherman ranch was his home. Despite the poignant loss he would continue to feel for a woman's touch, he knew Slim's wisdom, like that of his own father, and the care of Jonesy and Andy's loyalty would never let him down.

 **# # # # #**

" 'Bout time you brought a woman home t' take care of this place!" Jonesy grumbled as he lowered himself stiffly into a chair on the porch. He wasn't getting any younger and Mike could run you ragged just trying to keep up with his appetite, never mind the scrapes, bruises and torn clothes which frequently adorned an adventurous boy.

"It's not for want of trying, Jonesy," Slim pointed out. He was approaching thirty and well aware that being unmarried was unusual. _Heck, most people were raising families of their own, rather than looking after the ones they had been gifted with. He would never swap being family with Andy and Mike for anything, it was just that …_

"D'you notice a whole bunch of single ladies beating a path to my door?" he asked somewhat resentfully.

"No. You gotta go gittem!" Jonesy told him roundly.

Slim sighed. Running the ranch and relay station single-handed, with only what casual help he could hire when needed, occupied most of his time. _Even when he did have time for leisure and the pursuit of his own social life, as like as not he was too darn' tired!_

On the occasions when he had ridden into town for a night in the saloon or one of the infrequent dances, he found he was missing Jess Harper alongside him. He just knew Jess would challenge him to put down his burdens for a while, would be ready to laugh and relax, to beat the locals at poker and probably get Slim himself roaring drunk. So strong was this feeling of companionship that Slim actually found, once or twice, he had bought two beers or whiskeys instead of one! Freddie had given him a very odd look and of course Slim had had to drink them both. As for dances, you only needed to have seen Jess's lithe grace to know he was a great dancer and with his unruly good looks and untamed wildness, he would give Slim serious competition for partners – as if there wasn't already a queue of men vying for that hand of any eligible woman!

"And there are so many single women just looking for a husband around here and of course no competition!" Slim added sarcastically, following his own train of thought.

"Go gittem," Jonesy mumbled again from behind the newspaper. "Y' ain't that bad a catch."

Modest though he was, Slim knew this was true. He was healthy, well-mannered, honest, kind - and not bad-looking, even in his own estimate which he kept determinedly realistic. The life of the ranch was hard and often precarious, but no more so than many other spreads and businesses in the territory. Maybe women just didn't want to take on a small boy and a teenager as well? Or maybe he just had bad luck? It seemed that way.

 _It wasn't as if he hadn't tried!_

But his efforts to establish a permanent relationship with a woman often ended in disaster of one kind or another. There was the sister of the local minster – it was most unfortunate that Andy and Mike happened to be streaking from the shower to the house, stark naked, just as she arrived for an afternoon of pleasantly sampling their hospitality in the form Jonesy's latest cake-making. Then the very attractive daughter of the corn merchant turned her nose up when she found Slim hanging out the washing and, in any case, proved to be incapable of even making toast – such was her superior education in the east. The widowed schoolmistress, who was still young enough to be considered, declined any further association after she had had to walk a mile back to Laramie when the horse drawing the buggy, from which she and Slim had just alighted for a romantic moment in the moonlight, bolted for home. Then there were several lively and pretty girls working in the saloon – not many of them would have been suitable, but Slim did see signs of domestic refinement and a desire to settle down in Julie. Julie! She was exquisitely beautiful in mind as well as in body – or at least so Slim thought until his hat unexpectedly blew off outside the window of Miss Ellie, the dressmaker. As he bent down to pick it up, he was treated to Julie giving one of the other girls a very explicit account of the life she intended to lead with her previous admirers, once she had the security of a position as Slim's wife. Even his most recent, most promising courtship had ended in catastrophe. He'd really been hopeful when Miss Susie Turnbull had invited him to supper _pour deux_ while her parents were away in Cheyenne. All would have gone well if, just as he was riding up to the house, Alamo had not shied violently, slipped sideways and tipped Slim into the duck-pond. Even this disaster could have proved a romantic event if Susie had been prepared to dry off his clothes and wrap him in a cozy blanket. She did nothing of the kind, instead shrieking and barring the door to a soaking Slim covered liberally with pond-weed.

 _It was very odd! After all, even if Andy and Mike had decided to shower in the middle of the afternoon, why hadn't they got towels? Slim had fallen over the basket of wet washing he was sure had been on the sink waiting for Jonesy to hang it out when he last saw it and he was certain Jonesy never left the bread and the toasting fork by the fire. And there was nothing whatsoever to scare the buggy horse nor any wind to blow his hat off … These were all conundrums which, for some reason, he hadn't brought to his evening consultation with his friend, not least because Jess would probably have laughed his own hat off at the pond incident – and would certainly have had as much to say as Jonesy about Slim's taste in women. Oh, well …!_

Slim recalled himself to the immediate conversation with his old friend and ally. "You want me to get a mail-order bride? Have her delivered in a neat parcel on the next stage coach?" he demanded.

True words are often spoken in jest.

 **# # # # #**

It was two days after the conversation on the porch that a stage pulled into the yard on the last leg of its journey from Cheyenne to Laramie in the middle of a sudden spring storm. Mose and Frankie – who for some unknown reason was riding shotgun that day - both jumped down, looking mighty concerned.

"Got a sick passenger, Slim. Don't want to take him any further unless we have to. Can we bring him in?"

"Sure!" Slim hastened into the house, to call for Jonesy and open up the little back bedroom they kept for overnight guests. Frankie followed right on his heels, carrying a slender body, hardly more than a boy, in his arms. He deposited the passenger on the bed and Slim dropped a blanket over the shivering form.

"Rain's drivin' straight into the windows," Frankie explained as Jonesy joined them. "Looks like he'd got a high fever already and gettin' soaked don't seem like a good idea. Besides," he grinned, "we know Jonesy's as good as any doc."

"We're runnin' behind time too," Mose contributed. "Durn'd weather's gonna slow us down and there's urgent mail on board for Sheriff Cory. Road's so bad the joltin' ain't gonna do a sick boy any favors either."

"We'll get the team changed and you can be on your way," Slim told them. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of him."

"If it's just fever, I got herbs'll help bring it down," Jonesy reassured them. "But if y' can ask Doc to drop by, I'd like to make sure there ain't something else causin' the fever."

"Will do. Thanks, Jonesy!"

Andy and Mike already having changed the team, the stage departed in a flurry of mud, rain and lightning. The four of them went inside to tend to their visitor.

"Just Slim and me," Jonesy told the boys. "Don't want too many people crowdin' round a sick man."

Their first task was to divest the stranger of his outer clothing and as soon as they did so they discovered their mistake. When Slim removed their guest's hat they could see at once that they were dealing not with a young man, but a young woman. Her build was so slender it was easy to see how, in male clothing, she had passed for a boy. Her hair was drawn up tight against her head and her skin was pinched and sharp with pain and fever. Concealed by the shadow of the hat her face had given no hint of femininity, but she was undoubtedly female.

Slim stepped back in surprise and a very worried look transformed his face. "What now?"

Jonesy gave a slight shake of his head and said, "We get on like we normally would."

"But what about her modesty?" Slim was more than a little disconcerted at the situation they found themselves in.

"Ain't nothin' modest about bein' dead!" Jonesy told him firmly. "Go get a bucket of cool water an' some towels. I'll see to the clothin'."

This command began four long days in which one of them was constantly with the young woman, sponging her down, helping her to sip water and administering regular doses of Jonesy's patent brew for fever. It might have been the medicine itself, but there often seemed to be a soothing aroma of herbs about the room. At first, despite the treatment, the fever raged unabated. The girl was restless and agitated, calling out often for her family and telling them they should run, run, run far away! On the third night, there came a crisis in the still hour before dawn, when Slim was sitting faithfully at her bedside, his troubled eyes never leaving her pale, anguished face.

Suddenly a hoarse whisper, excruciatingly harsh in one so fragile, forced itself from her throat. "Take my hand! Don't let me go! I can't find you!"

Her thin hands lifted from the quilt and she seemed to be trying to grasp something or someone. The pain radiating from her was too much for Slim. He seized her hands and held them in a gentle but inescapable grip.

"You're OK. You're safe. Don't be afraid. Stay with us. Please!"

He did not know what made him beg so hard, but her hands responded, giving his own the slightest squeeze before she sighed deeply and relapsed into a more peaceful sleep than any he had seen before.

From then on, the fever cooled and she became calmer and more rational, a quiet patient who was thankful for everything done for her. Doc had arrived and made his examination, but there was little he could do to augment Jonesy's treatment. The medicine, plenty to drink, keeping cool but not cold, and resting were the right remedy and after a week the girl able to get up for short periods and join them for meals. She appeared to have no luggage and for want of any other clothing which would fit, they had to lend her some pants and shirts of Andy's.

"I can't thank you all enough," she told them quietly. Her voice was naturally low and she seemed to have an underlying Mexican accent. She could easily be of Spanish descent with her black hair and olive skin, but the blue eyes set under sharply drawn black brows argued a mixed heritage. She was not pretty, for she was too thin and drawn. The planes of her face were fine-boned rather than soft and she kept her hair severely drawn back into a single plait, wound into a coil at the base of her neck. But there was something in her quiet resilience and courtesy which was very attractive.

"You're very welcome," Slim told her as he introduced the members of the family.

"I am Margarita," she offered on learning their names.

"Just Margarita?"

A shadow of pain flickered across her face. "I have no name, really. The people who found me called me Margarita because I was playing in a big patch of daisies."

"Found you?"

"Yes. I was alone in the middle of the prairie, far from any trail or dwelling. I was perhaps five years old."

Mike's head went back sharply. He jumped to his feet, ran round the table and enveloped Margarita in a tight hug. "You were littler'n me and you were all on your own!"

"You lost your parents too?"

When Mike gave a shaky nod, the girl tightened her arms round him, returning the hug. It was the beginning of a special bond between the two – only none of them realized it just then. Presently the orphans released each other and Margarita asked, "This is your home now?"

"Yeah!" Mike affirmed vigorously. "It's a good home. The cowboy said so!"

Everyone laughed, but as yet no-one explained this cryptic utterance and Margarita did not ask about it. Instead she asked that they give her some simple jobs to do, so that she could earn her keep and repay their care until she was fit enough to fend for herself.

Jonesy was only too glad to have another competent pair of hands to deal with cooking, washing, ironing, mending and the general domestic chores. But he was careful not to overburden the girl, or to assume that all she could do was keep house. In this he was right. As her strength increased, she showed herself to be an enthusiastic gardener, a good hand with the poultry, goats and milking cow, and a competent rider. Given a rifle, she also proved to be an accurate, if cautious, shot. All these skills, she told them, she had had to learn from her adopted family, with whom she had traveled through the south, finally crossing the border into Mexico.

"Why did you never use their family name?" Mike was not afraid to ask questions which the adults hesitated to broach.

"You are still Mike Williams," she countered. "You don't call yourself Sherman."

"I don't need to!" Mike stated. "I'm family, but I've already got my pa's name. You didn't have any name at all." Then, seeing the subject was a sensitive one for Margarita, he rushed over and gave her another of their big hugs.

"It's OK, Mike," she assured him. "I don't mind. I guess I just wanted to have something which was mine, like you kept your family name. When I need to, I use Renacer as my surname."

"That's a funny name!"

"But important. It means 'to be reborn'. I was born into a new life when I was rescued and I'll always be grateful for that."

"I guess so." Mike thought for a minute and added with a happy grin, "You could always use Sherman though, if you want to. I'm sure Slim 'n Andy wouldn't mind."

Slim's heart leaped into his throat at this. _The girl was a guest. And she_ _was much too young._

Andy saw the flush tinge his brother's cheeks and kindly came to the rescue, saying what he thought Slim would like to say. "We'd both be honored."

Margarita smiled at him, but did not look at Slim. "The honor would be mine. But you have given me so much already. I should be moving on now."

"Moving where?" Andy asked quickly. "You never did tell us where you were headed on that stage."

Margarita threw back her head and laughed loudly. "California!" she told them.

"California?" four very surprised voices chorused.

"It's so silly," she admitted. "In my fever I wasn't thinking straight. I got the names of the places on the route completely confused. So I got on the wrong coach – twice!"

"We're glad you did," Mike told her.

"But why California?" Slim asked. It was a long way away. There could be no meaningful contact once she moved on.

"You'll think me even more foolish," she replied and blushed.

"Never – no - we won't – you aren't silly!" came the supportive chorus again.

"It was like this," Margarita's blush deepened, but she went on valiantly: "I always secretly hoped someone of my family survived and was living happily somewhere. One day a prospector came to our town – there were big claims opening up – I think he hoped to make his fortune, as men do." She shook her head at the thought of the labor and the folly of chasing gold in the hard earth. "He'd come from California and he lodged with my rescuers. After a while, he began to pay court to me. He said he'd seen …" she hesitated and forced herself to continue, "he'd seen the most beautiful woman in Sacramento and she looked exactly like me. He wanted to propose to her, but she was already married with two small children. He proposed to me instead."

"And you turned him down?" Slim ventured softly.

"I only wanted to find my true family!" Margarita's eyes shone with love. "So I set out for California – on the word of a stranger and with nothing but hope. It was a crazy thing to do. I wasn't even sure how to get there! But I did take the precaution of travelling as a young man, not a girl."

"I've been meaning to ask you about clothes," Slim said gently. "Do you like dressing that way?"

Margarita laughed again. "I'd give anything for a pretty dress! I've never had one."

"Good!" Slim laughed too. "Come on, we're going to town!"

 **# # # # #**

A small pile of clothes later and the conversation in the General Store went something along the lines of:

"I can't pay for these, Slim."

"I'm paying."

"But I can't pay you back."

"You can go on working them off, like you've been doing."

"So you want to work the shirt off my back?"

Slim blushed. "Nothing was further from my mind! I want your work to keep the shirt on your back."

"In that case, I accept."

After which Slim dragged Margarita along to the small shop of Miss Ellie, the dressmaker. The little old lady was only too ready to help the girl choose fabrics and styles which would enhance her slender figure and striking looks - rest, good food and, above all, loving company had turned Margarita from a scrawny youth into a radiant young woman.

The commissioning of the dresses was not without further argument, however.

"These dresses are a present."

"I can't take presents from you, Slim. It isn't … appropriate."

"Have you had a birthday present recently?"

"I don't know when my birthday is."

"So the whole family at the Sherman ranch are going to make sure you have one every year from now on, starting today!"

"If you're sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure!"

"So it's going to take till next year for me to work off this debt?"

"You know that's not what I meant!"

In the background, Miss Eli smiled to herself. She was an incurable romantic at heart and liked to see a nice young man and a pretty girl united in exploring their feelings for each other. And if there was a faint scent of herbs in the air, it only added to the pure joy of the moment.

 **# # # # #**

To his delighted surprise, Slim found in himself the capacity to be joyful.

This was entirely due to Margarita's presence at the ranch. She already belonged as if she had been there all along. Jonesy approved of her, Andy respected her and Mike adored her. She took up those tasks for which she was most skilled and worked willingly and tirelessly to make her contribution to the success of the ranch. And it was evident from the happy, relaxed way in which she did so that she had come to feel the place was 'home'.

For one who had sought a family for so long, with such resilient hope, this was naturally a great joy, which infected everyone around her.

Not only did she bring joy, but she also had a sense of fun equal to that of the boys. Almost inexplicably, it seemed to Slim, he found himself relaxing, joking, taking time to act the fool and fool around with the youngsters. There were straw fights in the barn, water fights in the yard, blind man's buff and apple-bobbing – a whole host of lighthearted activities which he had never had the chance to indulge in when he himself was younger. In his innermost heart, he felt Jess might very well have encouraged him to a similar relaxation and he was grateful to be given a second chance at it. He was just unsure if he dared take this chance fully.

The question of age weighed heavily upon Slim and he confessed his uncertainty to Jess in his quiet evening moments with his friend. Margarita was so much younger than he was, hardly older than Andy ... or at least, so it seemed. _Could he possibly consider … but no!_ _He valued her too highly to risk misinterpreting what might just be the natural high-spirits of youth._

It was Mike, as usual, who had no qualms about tackling the delicate subject full on and with no hesitation. "D'you reckon y' ever gonna catch up with all your birthdays?" he asked one evening, when they had been teasing Margarita about having another celebration for her without waiting a year. "How many more d'y' have to make up?"

Her smile of enjoyment disappeared for a minute, while she calculated the answer to Mike's question. "I was about five when I was found and I can recall clearly at least twelve years some time after that. But I didn't really start counting the years until I was seven, so I guess that makes me around twenty now."

"Great!" Mike grinned. "We've got plenty of parties to go, then!"

Slim heaved a mental sigh of relief. Margarita might look young, but this was at least partly due to the fact that she was still exploring who she truly was. She was finding a happiness which, despite being of a positive and resilient disposition, had eluded her most of her younger life. Moreover she was happiest in Slim's company and he in hers. They spent many hours quietly working together on tasks around the ranch house and yard. When Slim was out working on the fence lines, Margarita would often ride out at noon, bringing a meal to share with him, and they would sit in companionable silence, just appreciating the beauty of the land all around them and the pleasure of each other's company.

One beautiful summer evening, when she had been with them about four months, Slim was surprised to see her urging the little sorrel mare he had bought for her up the steep slope to where he was finishing a final repair to the fencing.

"It's too beautiful to stay down below," she told him. "I wanted to feel the breeze and see the evening light from up here in the hills."

She dismounted and let the mare graze alongside Alamo. Slim finished securing his tools and then came to sit beside her on the edge of the ridge. The ground fell away quite steeply below them, thickly turfed with lush grass and dipping down into a little hollow full of flowering plants. The deep peace of evening wrapped them round.

Presently Slim said quietly, "I feel different."

She looked at him, not questioning, but waiting for him to explain in his own time. The shadows were beginning to stretch away towards the east, but the falling rays of the sun glinted on his hair and touched his face with a brightness which seemed to be echoed from within as well.

"I've been up here many times," Slim mused and then chuckled. "It's one of those places where you know you're always going to find fence breaks! But I feel as if it's all new. As if I'm truly seeing it for the first time, like when my family came here and claimed it. As if I've been given a new chance, an opportunity to find something I thought I'd lost."

Again, she waited.

"I guess I've been trying to model myself on my pa for so long, I forgot what it's like to be young. Now I feel as if I've been reborn."

At this, she chuckled too. "Maybe you need to prove to yourself how young and foolish you can be?"

"I do?"

"If it will help you believe you aren't too old …"

The unspoken question hung in the air between them, but Slim did not ask it. Instead he asked hopefully, "What would prove that?"

"Hmm …," Margarita looked around them and then grinned. "When did you last roll over and over down a hill?"

Slim looked seriously alarmed. "Never?" he ventured.

"Mr. Sherman, you haven't lived!" he was told severely. "Come on!"

Seconds later, two bodies were whirling their way down the slope to land in a cloud of laughter and aromatic scents from the bed of plants at the bottom of the hollow. When they had recovered their breath, they scrambled to a sitting position, entirely surrounded by flowering grasses and herbs. Margarita shook out her hair, which had come loose from its plait and fell in a cascade of black curls.

"I love the smell of herbs," she said softly. "It's one of the only memories I have from before I was found." She paused and looked intently as Slim before confiding, "The house often smells sweet with them. I thought Jonesy must keep dried herbs about the place somewhere, but he only uses the fresh ones from the garden."

Slim nodded and silently reached out to brush the seeds and petals clinging to her hair.

"It makes the house a home," she said.

Slim finally found his voice for the unspoken question. "Your home, if you'll have it?" He moved so he was kneeling close to her. He took her hand. "Margarita Renacer, would you be willing to change your family name to Sherman?"

A happy laugh greeted this question. "I would love to so much! But on one condition …"

 **# # # # #**

"Holly Margarita, I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Pastor Nicholson was not entirely sure that baptizing an adult was in order under the circumstances, but the young woman had made a very good case for not having been baptized as a child – or at any rate, not with a name anyone knew. And besides, the couple had insisted on it as a condition of getting married at all – and he could not countenance any further cohabitation, even with an elderly employee as chaperone.

The elderly chaperone was standing by, looking smug. The language of plants had triumphed once again because, when his bride-to-be had asked that Slim choose her new name, he had come to Jonesy, seeking a name with a special meaning. The search for something with deep significance had naturally led them to the symbolism of plants and flowers. Slim had explained the name he had chosen: "Holly represents hope and hope is something which you have kept all your life, no matter how challenging it has been. And just as holly makes the house bright in the darkness of winter, so you will always be the brightness of my home and my life."

As Holly received her new name and these thoughts passed through Slim's mind, he looked down at the little bouquet Andy and Mike had put together for her – the deep blue of violets like the color of her eyes, the soft green of sage and rosemary, the fragile silver flowers of thyme and oregano, tied with a blue ribbon – and he smiled to himself. _How fortunate that he had been so conveniently saved from all those other women!_ He sent out a deep, warm surge of gratitude which was both heart-felt and amused at the same time. _Thank you, Jess my friend!_

Then the minister's voice recalled him to the joy of the present.

"Will you, Matthew John, take Holly Margarita …"


	4. Chapter 4

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.

 **4**

 **1886, Late Fall**

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The wind moaned hollowly round the house and shook the windows. It bore the faint sound of hooves on the first snow of the year and an even fainter sound of cries.

"Au secours! Au secours!"

Andy sprang to his feet and the rocking chair – Jess's chair, as it happened – rattled almost as loudly as the windows. It seemed only seconds ago that he had dropped into the chair, just to ease his aching muscles for a moment after a hard morning's labor around the yard.

He and Mike had been working against time to finish weather-proofing the extensions to both the outbuildings and the house itself which Slim and Mike, with some help from their neighbors, had constructed over the summer. It had been an amazingly hot summer, too hot to work in the peak hours of the day, which had left them scrambling to complete the work in the fall.

The dry summer had also meant moving the stock further up into the high ranges in order to try to find areas of grazing, as the grass seemed to shrivel visibly before their eyes. The necessary herding had also taken much time and labor. In the circumstances, the swampy areas of the range had proved to be an asset instead of a nuisance. It was most fortunate, too, that the ranch had its own lake, which meant some grass continued to grow, but a ready source of water brought its own problems. Soon they had had to drive off other desperate stock and sometimes engage in stand-offs with their equally desperate owners. By the grace of God, it had never come to bloodshed, but only because Slim Sherman was wise, with a fine sense of justice and of neighborliness. A reasonably fair system of sharing was arrived at after some tense negotiations and herds in the area were in a fitter state than they might otherwise have been.

It had been Andy who had insisted they take measures to prepare for an extreme winter. His intimate knowledge of the local wildlife and how it behaved very quickly recognized that the animals were already building up their winter stores and establishing deep burrows or, in the case of the beavers, reinforcing their existing lodges more thoroughly than usual. Birds were also migrating south much earlier than ever before. The dry summer meant foodstuff for their cattle and horses was in short supply and they had to travel far to get supplies which would help to tide at least some stock over a prolonged severe winter. That was where Slim had gone on a last foray before the weather really set in and travelling became too difficult.

 _Slim, however, would not be shouting u_ _nless something were direly wrong and anyway the words did not sound like English or indeed like his voice at all._

Andy strode out of the door and nearly collided with Mike, who had exited abruptly from the kitchen where he had been brewing some coffee for them. They both screwed up their eyes against the glare of the light on the white blanket already thinly covering the landscape.

A dark horse was coming carefully down the last slope of the road from Cheyenne. A dark horse with a white star. A horse with a rider.

Andy and Mike looked at each other. At the ripe old age of twenty-five, Traveller was an honored retiree on the ranch and they generally only worked him lightly, as much for the sake of the horse's needs as that of the work. He was still the best cow-pony they'd ever had and his wisdom and experience had helped train many of his successors, but he deserved to let them take the strain now. Nonetheless, the reduction in workload was more out of respect for Traveller's age than because he needed it. The horse remained remarkably hale and hearty, not to mention being as independent as his master. Some might have called this uncanny. The Shermans just attributed it to belonging to Jess: after all, he was still around. But there was no reason why anyone would have ridden him out under these conditions.

"Is that Nathan?" Andy asked. He knew Slim's eldest son had an affinity with the horse as strong as his own and that of Slim himself.

Mike shook his head. "He's been holding planks up for me all morning while I was mending the back wall of the little barn."

"Talk of the devil," Andy joked, as Slim's eldest, Nathaniel, appeared from the barn and ran towards them. The joke was quite unjust, as at thirteen Nathan already had the responsibilities of the ranch at heart, far more than Andy himself had had at the same age.

In truth, Andy did not feel much like joking, anyway. It was only to counteract the overwhelmingly strong sense of apprehension which was running through him. He had not felt like this since the night Traveller had arrived without Jess.

 _What could the sudden appearance of the bay horse on the winter road portend this time?_

"What's up?" Nathan had evidently heard the cries too.

"Is that Matt on Traveller?" Mike demanded, sounding quite agitated. He had been an elder brother mixed with an uncle to Slim's brood for too long to ignore the dangers into which their natural exuberance led them. Matt was ten and had a strong streak of rash independence which everyone said must come from Andy, for it was so unlike the sensible forethought of the father and grandfather after whom he had been named. Privately Andy attributed it to the Harper influence acting as a lively leaven on the more conventional Sherman characteristics.

Nathan shook his head. "He's inside with Ma. He and Mary're helping her line the loft with more stuff against the cold. And the little uns were bagging up that big sack of beans so we can use a few at a time."

"Beans all over the kitchen floor," Mike confirmed with a grin.

"So who's that on Traveller?" Andy's voice was almost a whisper.

"Au secours!" the distant cry was like a whisper in the hissing wind. "Aidez nous, pour l'amour de Dieu!"

"Someone who needs help," Mike stated practically. "Go inside and tell your ma, Nate. They may be hurt." There was nothing else they could do until the rider reached them.

The door banged as Nathaniel ran into the house to alert the rest of the family. Andy and Mike walked over to the corral and barn, ready to give whatever assistance they could. Andy's heart was thumping wildly, but he could not tell why. This would not be the first traveler the ranch had offered succor to, nor would they be the last. But something whispered across the strings of his heart and his soul that there had been few other times like this. The time Traveller himself had come back. The time Holly had arrived on the stage.

Traveller turned automatically towards the barn. His head was low but his pace steady - he understood the demands of the icy road and the precious nature of his burden.

Riding him was a girl.

To their snow-dazzled eyes, she seemed to Andy and Mike to be the spirit of winter itself. A creature glittering with frost. Pure and lucent. But she was human. A girl wrapped in a coat of white sheepskin, her hair flowing and rippling around her, dazzling in its fairness, even though she was in the shadow of the building.

Traveller halted at the barn doors.

Andy ran forward.

He caught the girl as she tumbled, exhausted from the horse's back.

She was so light. As light as a feather or a beam of sunshine on his heart. He could feel their two hearts beating together, even through the thickness of their coats. Their breath rose and mingled in the cold air. His warm cheek touched her cold one.

Emerald eyes flashed open and locked with his. "Vous devez venir! Maintenant - à la fois!" Then, seeing he did not understand: "Please, you must come! Come at once!"

"Easy! You're OK now!" He hugged her close before lowering her gently so she could stand free. "Of course we'll help. Tell us what's happened. In English, if you can."

The girl nodded vigorously. "Forgive me. In danger, I turn first to my mother tongue."

"What danger?"

She turned and pointed back down the road. "A ravine. A sharp bend over a river. The bridge collapsed. The stage-coach overturned and the guard and driver were crushed." Her creamy skin seemed to become even paler at the memory. "We were trapped. My little brothers and I. We couldn't get out because of the way it was tilted."

Her breath was coming in sharp pants and Andy sensed that she was near fainting from the shock of what she had experienced. Instinctively he drew her back into the warmth of his arms.

"Tell me."

"I thought we were going to freeze to death there. The snow was blowing into the coach. The wind was like a knife."

"Were there no other passengers to help?" Mike asked practically.

The girl shook her head. "The impact – it was terrible!" The two young men forbore to press her for details. Drawing a shaky breath, she went on: "There was a man. A strong man. Afterwards I saw that he must have come by wagon. He managed to get us out of the coach. Put us in the wagon. Made a shelter of the sacks it was carrying. Wrapped us against the cold."

"Why didn't he drive you here?" Mike was justifiably puzzled but Andy did not want to hear the answer.

The girl blenched again. "The horses drawing the stage. They were trapped too. Tangled in the harness. Struggling. Screaming. I think he knew them. He called them by name."

Andy exchanged a stricken look with Mike and Nathaniel, who had delivered the news to his mother and rapidly re-joined them.

"He went down to help the other passengers, but the coach was shaking too badly because of the trapped horses. They did not panic so much at first – I think maybe they were stunned too - but after he had got us out – they seemed to go into a frenzy."

Having handled so many stages and teams of horses, the young men could imagine the scene only too well.

"He climbed down to try to cut them free. But he was kicked and the struggle pulled the coach further over into the ravine. He's under it." Her eyes were wide and frenzied. "Please. He hasn't much time!"

"But how did you -?"

"The horse came. The man, he called to me. Told me to get on. The horse would take me to find help."

"So you rode here."

"Yes. He trusted the horse. I trusted him."

Andy came to a rapid decision. "Nate, saddle your pony and get up to the Travers place as quick as you can. Ask the boys to meet us at Blackthorn Gulch. We'll need tools for a wreck and lifting gear. Ask them to hurry!"

"Yes, sir!" Nate did not stop for questions. He was only too aware that there were few strong men on the road with a wagon at this time of year. His mind was racing and his heart aching, but he knew that if his father was to have any chance at all, it would depend on his son's speed.

The ranch house door opened as Andy spoke and Holly came out, flanked by Matt and Mary. Like the grandparents for whom they had been named, the children were no strangers to trouble and danger. Now they looked with wide eyes at the stranger in their midst.

"Go inside with Holly," Andy told the girl. "She'll look after you."

"But -"

"We'll do better without you," he responded bluntly. "We know the place. We have the gear and the manpower."

The girl looked searchingly at him, her eyes scanning his face as if he spoke to her without words. Then she nodded. "I trust you."

"Go with Holly," Andy repeated, giving her a little shove in the direction of his sister-in-law. There was no time now to explore the sudden trust and respect which had sprung to life between them.

"Come into the house, my dear." Holly did not waste words and time asking questions either. She had heard Andy's orders and seen Nathaniel ride off hell for leather down the road to the south. To her daughter she said: "Run inside, Mary. Fetch the medicine pack and the bag of bandages for Andy. Matt, get the spare bed-rolls and those all-weather capes from the storeroom, then see to Traveller."

Holly put her arm round the girl and helped her towards the house, for delayed shock had left her shaking and shivering. On the porch, Holly paused for a second, looking back at Andy and Mike loading the small wagon, to which was hitched their strongest team, with a couple of spare horses tied behind. Again, she asked nothing.

The house door closed as the loaded wagon rolled out of the yard with Mike driving. Andy had saddled a sure-footed mustang. Now he vaulted on and raced to overtake the wagon.

 **# # # # #**

The wind moaned hollowly round the house and shook the windows.

Andy sat in Jess's rocking chair, the little ones cuddled close on his lap. Mike, with his arms round Matt and Mary, was on the couch. Nathaniel sat in his father's chair on the opposite side of the fire.

No-one spoke. Despite the deep reverberations of the wind outside, inside all was quiet and still. The lamps shed a gentle light on them and the fire glowed steadily. A soft warmth wrapped round them and the air was faintly scented, but only with wood-smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

There was no sound from beyond the door to the back bedroom, which had become Slim and Holly's as the family expanded and the kids took over the bunk-room. Mike and Andy had renovated and improved the bunk-house outside so they had space of their own. Not that Andy needed it much – having been away training to develop his natural veterinary skills, he was now pursuing his love of travel and had lately been working to qualify as a navigator for a small merchant shipping company in which he had shares. But he always made time to spend part of the summer with his family and this year it was a late summer visit which had extended far into fall.

Now winter was on their doorstep and survival was Andy's deepest care for them all. He simply did not know how Holly and the children would survive the loss of Slim.

The dead and injured from the wrecked stage had been carried on into the town. The doc had been and gone. Now there was nothing left to do but wait. Wait and comfort each other and lean on to the strong bonds which held them all together in the security of the family.

Andy was staring at the front door as he hugged the youngest children close, a tender arm round each of them. His heart was going to break, but he could not let it, not while they needed his comfort and strength.

For he knew all too well what it was like to see that door open to admit, for the last time, the father who was the center of your world. Once before that door had opened on a man battered by natural and human storms, and suddenly Andy's home had become as cold as the long ago winter. Without his father it was as icy and silent as his beloved pa, lying in the freezing calm of the vacant bunkhouse. The earth too hard. They could not even bury him straightaway. To Andy's young mind, then, the whole world, including his own heart, was as frozen as Matt's final resting place in the cold ground above the house where they had eventually managed to open up a grave. Andy had stood with Mary, close to the raw earth mound in the biting wind, while Jonesy read the burial service. It had been Jonesy who had soothed Andy's troubled sleep for many nights to come and his simple cooking and homely wisdom which warmed and nurtured them all, as they endured the harshness of winter and grief together.

Now they did not even have Jonesy, who had gone to his own well-earned sleep in the same burial ground with the family he had cared for and loved so well. Now there was only Andy and Mike to be the source of the wisdom, strength and courage which would help Slim's family carry the burden of grief as best they could.

But as he looked at the door, Andy was also remembering it opening and closing as someone went out. Twin little boys and slender girl with winter in her hair, but the promise of young, new life in her eyes. The two boys whom Slim had rescued had been brought initially to the ranch house to join their sister, but she had resolutely declined any further hospitality, clearly not wishing to intrude more on their tragedy.

"I owe you a debt I can never repay, but I will pray for you all." Her green eyes had turned for a long moment to look at the door of the bedroom. Then she looked equally intently at Andy. "My name is Celestine. I shall not forget you."

One of the Travers had driven the three, who had been rescued at such cost, into Laramie, first to the hotel and after that presumably to continue their journey to some unknown destination.

 _Unknown_! _He knew nothing about them_. _Not their surname. Not where they had come from. Not why. Not where they were heading. Not if they would be safe as they journeyed on._ _He only knew that Traveller had come to their aid …_

Andy looked again towards the room where his brother lay, mortally injured. He thought of the years of joy and love Slim's marriage to Holly had brought to the ranch and its family. He thought of the depth of the bond between his brother and the woman he had chosen to give his life to. Now Slim had given his life for another woman and for the children bound to her by blood and responsibility. Andy was of much the same age as Slim had been when Holly arrived from nowhere on the stage. Just so Celestine might have arrived today, if fate had fallen otherwise.

 _She came from nowhere and disappeared into nowhere. She said would not forget. But would she ever return?_

Again something whispered across the strings of his heart and his soul.

 **# # # # #**

Slim struggled hard to rise. He put his whole heart into it to no avail.

 _Darn it all! The bedclothes seemed to be made of lead!_

He shook his head irritably, wanting to be up and about his work and his responsibilities.

 _He was definitely in his bed, but he had a distinct recollection of being pinned down by something much bigger and heavier than a pile of blankets and a quilt. And why the heck was he so cold?_

The memory triggered a swift and vigorous reaction. _He had to get to them! Pull them out! Before the stage slipped even further into the snowy ravine._

His hands and feet felt icy and numb, rendering him clumsy and helpless. But Slim Sherman was not easy to deter. Bright day through the doorway was beckoning him to action. He exerted all his considerable strength to shift whatever was holding him down. _Break out! Break through!_

A feather-light touch on his shoulder. A flood of warmth which started at the soles of his feet and gently swept over and through him. A chuckle. A familiar rumbling growl of a voice.

" _Easy, partner. Don't rush it. Tell them y' love them before y' come on here."_

Slim knew he was back in the bed. The bed in his own bedroom. He was lying flat. His body felt as if it had been trampled by a herd of buffalo, but curiously this did not bother him now. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Holly?"

"I'm here."

Her hands clasped his as they had done so many times before. On their left hands their rings chimed with subtle music as they met together.

"So much joy! You. The children. So much love!" Slim's voice was low and tranquil. "I was trying to get up. Yet I didn't want to leave you."

"I never want to be parted from you either."

"I won't be far. I'll be waiting."

"I know. You called me back once. I know the bond between us is stronger than death." Her voice did not falter, but a single tear splashed down onto their joined hands.

"You are the brightness of my life. When everything else gets dark, you shine out and I know where I am." Slim's voice was fading into the merest whisper. "You belong where I am and I belong where you are."

Holly's dark head bowed over Slim's golden one. A tender kiss. A shared sigh. Then she loosed their hands gently. "I'm letting you go on ahead. But I will come, I swear it."

"Because you belong with me … In the brightness … It's so bright, Holly … so bright …"

 **# # # # #**

"It's the angels," Jess said conversationally.

"Huh?" Slim was both dazed and dazzled.

"Y'll get used to it real quick. But I'll tell 'em to back off a bit. They gotta habit of throngin' – makes y' feel smothered in light. It's just 'cause they want t' welcome you and help y' get used to bein' free, but it can be too much at first."

 _Jess Harper telling angels to back off? Why was he surprised?_ Slim smiled to himself.

The light certainly did seem to be less intense. Looking around he realized they were on the edge of the little graveyard above the house.

 _Well, that made sense. He'd spent enough hours up here chatting to Jess and the conversation hadn't been entirely one-sided._

He felt as if his whole self was smiling at the depth of their communication now. Something had indeed been freed - the essence which had permeated through his physical body and guided his thoughts and actions. Now it was distilled from the body he no longer wore and utterly concentrated again. He was entirely and completely himself.

To his astonishment, he found that not only did he know himself to be whole, he knew Jess too. Knew him as well as his own self. Knew that every vital quality he had perceived during the one day they had spent together was true, was perfected now. Or perhaps, almost perfect. The inherent Harper qualities of loyalty, courage and sheer darn'd stubbornness were causing little celestial ripples all around them. Though angels could not be exasperated, it was a near thing. A good job, perhaps, that joy and a generous helping of amusement were fundamental ingredients of eternity.

This essential sense of rightness, of joyful existence, kept him calm as the two of them stood together, looking down at the row of headstones and at the mound of newly heaped earth. In the winter conditions, many hands had labored in his honor to dig this final physical resting place.

His little family were standing too, united in their sorrow and linked both emotionally and physically. Mike had an arm round Holly's shoulders as she stood so still. Andy had once again gathered the youngest into his arms. Nathaniel, Matthew and Mary held hands but held their heads up too, true to the inner strength of the Sherman spirit. And behind them, packing the small clearing and stretching in a crowd right back to fill the whole yard and spill over onto the road, were a host of friends, neighbors, stage crews and owners, sheriffs, deputies, doctors, tradesmen, business partners, lawyers, a judge or two, schoolkids, cowboys and army officers – so many people whom Slim's wisdom and integrity had touched.

Grief is a mortal emotion. In its place, Slim felt an overwhelming tenderness and glowing love for those who had yet to follow him.

"She'll be here before y' know it," Jess reminded him with a smile. "All of them will."

"But not before they've suffered!" Slim's essential nature was in full force as he demanded: "Why can't we do something to help?"

"I guess because we gave that help when we were there with them. Then, you 'n Holly, you worked together and you protected and taught the young uns. Now, it's only sometimes we're allowed to help things along … some special times –"

An enlightening memory dawned. "Like you did with those women?"

Jess grinned. "You ended up with Holly, where you were meant to be. That was why givin' you a nudge was OK. So, yeah, sometimes y' can help, but mostly they still have to go through what they've gotta go through. That's what it's about."

Slim nodded. "I'd like to wait, though."

Jess shook his head. "No need. Ain't no waitin' any more. You're free to be everywhere, any time."

"But you're still _there_?"

"Yeah. It's because I took on job to do and I ain't aimin' to quit it yet. Gotta look after Andy and Mike. T' look out for Nate and all the kids. Gotta see it through t' the end. So go on – go ahead! I'll be with you in no time."

 _That_ , Slim reflected, _was certainly true_. _Time was now irrelevant. There was no before or after. Just one whole immeasurable, brightly shining life._ His thoughts, however, were brought abruptly back to less metaphysical matters by Jess's parting words:

"By the way, y' pa does approve of me!"

.

* * *

.

Notes:

 **Sherman Family Tree in this chapter**

Matthew m. Mary

l

Mike Williams ... Slim m. Holly -+- Andy

l

Nathaniel -+- Matthew -+- Mary -+- Little ones

.

This section and indeed the picture of heaven in the whole story is based on the lovely old prayer by John Donne (1571 - 1631, Dean of St Paul's Cathedral), which is often used at funerals:

.

Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening

into the house and gate of heaven,

to enter into that gate and dwell in that house,

where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light,

no noise or silence but one equal music,

no fears nor hopes but one equal possession,

no ends nor beginnings but one equal eternity,

in the habitations of thy majesty and glory,

world without end.

.

This chapter contains references to _The Last Battleground_ episode and to the stories _Casket of Fears and Dreams_ and _Starlight Brotherhood._


	5. Chapter 5

.

.

 **5**

 **1887, Spring**

.

Andy sat astride Traveller, stunned and amazed, and fervently wishing he had someone with him to share his jubilation. He could not believe his eyes! There was no doubt what he was seeing, but after the savage winter they had just endured, it was nothing short of a miracle **…**

 **…...**

 **…** They had done their best to defend against the winter, stacking fodder in sheltered corners of the range for the cattle, bringing in extra feed for the few cows, goats, poultry and horses they would keep in the barns, drying, smoking and salting meat – since all the cattle could not survive prolonged severe cold, there was going to be plenty of that – drying and bottling the produce from the garden, making sure they had a plentiful supply of herbs as if Jonesy were looking over their shoulder. Sometimes Andy could have sworn he was. Flour and live yeast would be rationed carefully. A huge log-pile was built under the eaves of the house. The loft had been insulated as heavily as they could manage. They had purchased more furs from the Travers, their neighbors whose trade was trapping.

What could be done had been done. There was no more preparation to be made.

Nothing short of divine intervention could counter the progressive stranglehold winter placed on the ranch and its inhabitants.

Yet Andy was constantly conscious of unseen encouragement. The house smelled sweet with the scent of herbs. When they sat close around the meager fire they allowed themselves, the rocking of the chairs soothed them with the promise of tranquility to come. When they had to sleep huddled together in front of the fire, rest was able to strengthen them to endure. No-one spoke of it, they did not need to, but each of them, in their individual ways felt the powerful surge of courage and determination which came from a strong, loving presence constantly with them. When the little ones fell ill – when Mike was blown over by the icy blast, damaging his ribs and his hands – when diminishing fuel supplies forced them to stop using the kitchen stove and cook over the open fire – when Holly lit the last candle - when the whole world seemed shrunk to a single room – still some stubborn will to survive held them securely and drove them on.

On January 9, 1887, snow had fallen so heavily it left drifts which totally prevented opening the doors, even if it had not been suicidally foolhardy to walk anywhere outside. The blizzard raged, the winds whipped, and temperatures dropped so low that breathing was incredibly labored, even inside the building, and virtually impossible outside. Beforehand they had run ropes from building to building, and never moved outside without being tied to such an anchor nor ventured as far as the barn without the support of a companion. Now going outside was tantamount to suicide. Now they waited. Waited for the ruthless cold to weaken, the ice and snow to melt, and life to fight its way back to existence.

When at last this time came, it was death which emerged from the cloaking drifts. The territory was littered with dead cattle like some dreadful mockery of a great round-up …

…...

… As the cold finally broke and spring began to emerge like a frightened faun from the bleak thickets of winter, Traveller became restless, turning in his stall, whickering and snorting as if he sensed work to be done and a trail to follow. Eventually Andy had been unable to ignore the horse's importunity and decided to take him out, even though the footing was still treacherous.

It quickly became apparent that it was Traveller taking Andy out, not the other way round. The bay took absolutely no notice of where Andy was trying to direct him and proceeded to head up into the ranges as if he perfectly well knew where he was going.

He did.

Now Andy could not believe his eyes.

He was looking at a calf. An actual new-born calf.

Not only that, but a group of a dozen cattle had survived all that the winter could throw at them. They were tucked down into a deep hollow of the hillside, surrounded by the stripped bare remains of what had once been a dense thicket of bushes which had obviously kept them alive. They were not the only ones. Traveller carried Andy along the southern boundary of the ranch, where they found more groups of stock which had survived in pockets and hollows sheltering them from the worst of the northerly weather. Admittedly this had been helped by the fact that they had moved all the cattle down to the lower slopes before the onset of the winter storms and had provided, as far as they were able, some feed in areas where it would not be destroyed or scattered. All those hours of fence-building and checking and repairing had paid off too, because it kept stock in the safer, more sheltered areas. It was only later that they discovered how other more modern fences had killed so many desperate cattle, who had died piled against them because they could not break through the barbed wire to seek shelter.

But it was still a miracle! The little calf would need all the care they could give it and so would any others born to the starved cows, but they had enough animals to begin to rebuild the herd. It would just take time and patience and immeasurable hard work. Andy sat on Traveller, his heart bursting with thankfulness that the horse had showed him the first good news there had been in months.

It did not make the process of trying to clear up the devastation wrought by this winter any easier. The sickening but essential task of dragging carcasses away from water courses and springs proved almost too much for the two young men, even though Holly and the older children did their best to help. Yet a contaminated water supply would undo all the luck their hard labor had earned them. Disposing of the carcasses could be left for the moment to nature – there were starving predators enough around.

And starving people too. Many spreads had fared far worse than theirs. Families were not only bankrupted by the destruction of their stock, but had often lost the strongest and fittest members, the ones who had been the most able to venture out in the terrible conditions, but had simply frozen to death in the appalling temperatures or been lost in the arctic blizzards. Andy and Mike were able to take on temporarily a couple of other young men who had lost everything, both family and employment, to the force of winter. But more than this their own depleted circumstances could not support. They were on the route east and south and many passed by the house, on foot most often, for those who had a horse could usually find some employment. It broke Holly's compassionate heart every time they had to turn someone away and no-one left the Sherman ranch to seek their fortune elsewhere without some small gift of food, clothing or equipment to help them on their way. And in the gift, Holly always enclosed a sprig of oregano, one of the herbs which they had kept alive through the winter in indoor pots, which had begun to flourish again in the ranch-house garden despite all that had happened – a prayer and a token of joy to come.

There came a point, however, one evening, when the younger children had gone to sleep exhausted by the work of the day, that the equally tired adults sat round the supper table to make plans for the future. They had to take stock of what had happened, where they stood now and what they should do next. They were in their accustomed places, Holly at the foot, Mike and Andy on either side of her, but Nathaniel now took his father's seat at the head of the table. He was the eldest son of the eldest son, heir to Slim's share of the ranch and, far more than that, he was already deeply committed to the vision of his father and grandfather before him. The year of his fourteenth birthday saw him no longer a child but accepted as an equal among adults. Mike had long since been taken into partnership and had a third share in the ranch, which he had certainly earned not just by his unstinting hard work but by his love for the place and its people. Though his name was still Williams, he was a Sherman at heart, for both he and Nathaniel, to quote Jonesy, "always wanted to be ranchers and nuthin' else."

Andy acknowledged this as he said: "It's up to you three now, what we do about re-stocking and where we look for business."

"The whole country's learnt a hard lesson of how vulnerable cattle are," Holly reflected.

"The stage franchise won't pull in income for much longer," Mike pointed out realistically. "The trains will see to it."

"And this new invention, the horseless carriage," Andy agreed. "I've read that in Germany, they are already making ones which move using a motor, like a steam locomotive." He tried hard to keep his longing to travel out of his voice.

"I don't think I'd like riding in a wagon surrounded by steam," Holly objected.

"The engine uses something else, some form of refined oil, I think," Andy explained.

"Still smelly!"

"But it doesn't need feeding and it won't go lame. Maybe we need to set up a relay station for these new horseless stages," Mike joked prophetically.

"What about sheep?" Nathan suggested.

They all blinked in surprise, visualizing some form of transport hauled by sheep.

"The Allens have been running a flock for ages now," Nathan reminded them; he often visited his friends on the neighboring homestead. "The sheep winter out better than cattle – or at least they did this year. They eat practically anything. You can run more per acre than cows. And there's a good market for two products, wool and meat."

Andy and Mike considered this in silence, while Holly gave her son an encouraging smile. Slim and Matt Senior had both been cattlemen to the core and Andy also knew in his heart that Jess, whom he had come to regard as something of the 'luck' of the ranch, had earned his living as a cowboy and would be wholeheartedly in agreement with the two older men. _Was it possible to change direction so drastically, when cattlemen had always hated sheep farmers?_

Mike heaved a sigh. "You're right, Nate. There's no point in clinging to the old ways if it's gonna kill you and your business."

Holly nodded in agreement. "I think you're right, son. Isn't there a saying about not putting all your eggs in one basket?"

"Running a variety of stock will make better use of the land too." Mike's practical mind was already exploring the advantages and possibilities. Around the table his companions and partners were nodding in agreement and with increasing enthusiasm, recognizing the wisdom of adaptability.

No-one mentioned alpacas. Yet.

 **# # # # #**

So the life of the ranch began to return to some semblance of normality. This was almost entirely due to Andy's foresight in anticipating the winter weather and made possible by the united efforts of Andy and Mike, aided by the rest of the family, as they set themselves new sights to aim for. They refused to succumb to the despair which seized many others, but labored from day to day through each and every challenge with a stubborn determination beyond their own.

But for Nathaniel, more than any of them except Holly, there could be no return to normality as he had known it before. He had not only loved and respected his father, he had worked side by side with him at every opportunity which was not taken up with the schooling Slim insisted on. Even doing the accounts was no deterrent and Slim often joked that it was a good thing Nathan had a better head for figures than Mike did; recently he'd been taking the boy along with him on his periodic visits to the bank and to the Overland Stage Company offices. Nathan could easily have traveled with Slim on his last, fatal journey, had the work of preparation on the ranch not been deemed more urgent. If he'd been there, news of the accident would have reached the ranch quicker and, unlike a stranger, he'd have known to get help from the Travers first, on his way home. _Things might have turned out very different_.

His heart was wrenched not just by grief but by the savage pain of wondering if he could have done more. _Could he have reached the Travers quicker? Could he have made them hurry faster? Could he have gone down into the ravine and lent his young strength alongside the men lifting the coach off his father? Could he …?_

Sometimes the voices in his mind were as many as the great crowd at Slim's funeral, but these voices were not friendly, they were all shouting accusations at him, blaming him for his father's grave and his mother's grief.

Nathan had not been up to the graveyard since, even though he knew of the vigil his father had kept there on so many evenings. He knew why Slim went there too. For as long as he could remember, Nathan had simply accepted the spirit of Jess Harper as a member of the family, real and important as any of those he could see. That was why he found himself in the barn, in Traveller's stall, leaning against the horse the way both he and his father had often done when seeking a moment of quiet to gather strength. He needed strength so badly to overcome the pain of guilt and heartache.

On impulse, Nathan hastened to saddle the bay, mount up and ride out of the yard before anyone could ask where he was going. He didn't really know himself. Traveller did, though. The horse carried him towards Laramie, then took the fork for the higher of the two roads, which led past Baxter's Ridge and the town cemetery. Before reaching these landmarks, Traveller turned off the road up the familiar trail which led to the lake.

On the shore of the lake the bay stopped beside a battered _No Trespassing_ sign. It had taken some bullets during the stand-offs over water rights last summer and the paint was, even before the bullets, fading and peeling. A few feet away a fallen tree trunk lay, far less ravaged by the passage of time.

Nathan dismounted. He hitched Traveller's reins loosely to the sign. He moved towards the tree trunk.

He knew his family history. He had heard his father recall his first meeting with the Texan drifter. Slim did not talk of it very often –

 _Had not talked_ , Nathan corrected himself. _It was so hard to think of his father in the past! As hard as it was to think of Jess Harper that way. If Jess was real, was his father still real too?_

As far as Nathan knew, despite his very real presence, no-one had ever summoned Jess or demanded he listen. He was just there. When he was needed. And sometimes before they even knew their need. A tiny vestige of a smile touched Nathaniel's lips as he remembered his father's story of the unsuitable courtships which had ended in disaster but opened the way to his mother and father finally meeting and marrying. He was pretty sure some of those mishaps were due to Jess, but Slim had never spoken of making such a connection. The idea gave Nathan a warm burst of affection and thanksgiving – after all, he owed his existence to those other women being smartly seen off!

Feeling a little more confident and relaxed, he walked over to the log and stretched himself out on the grass, resting his head and shoulders against it. He closed his eyes **…**

 **…...**

 **…** He sensed someone settle beside him, but he did not open his eyes. They just lay there companionably in the warmth of the spring sunshine, listening to the lapping of the water, the soft rustle of the trees and the sound of Traveller shifting his position and swishing his tail at the occasional fly. Nathan sensed that his companion was very amused to find the horse hitched to the sign once more.

It was all so normal and peaceful. The ugly violence of death seemed far away. Yet Nathaniel knew that the young man beside him had ridden away from here to die in a distant town among strangers who did not know his name or care about his life.

 _But his father had cared!_ Nathan hoped fiercely that Slim and Jess would meet again now and their friendship would be able to flourish as it ought to have done. _It was just so awful the way his pa had had to suffer for this to come about! It shouldn't have happened! He should have prevented it!_

Guilt gripped his heart with ferocious fingers. _Because of him, his mother would spend her life grieving. Because of him his brothers and sisters would never be guided by his father's wisdom. Because of him Andy and Mike would live with a hole the size of a life-time in their hearts. The burden of it was too much to carry!_

And suddenly he was surrounded by fire. He thought he had been sent straight to Hell. In the next second he realized that it was not himself whom the flames threatened. It was another boy. A boy his equal in age. He could see the darkness pierced by jagged tongues of lurid light. He could hear the roar and crackle and crash of timbers. The barns were on fire! Through the darkness and the din came the sharp snap of bullets. People were falling in the yard. He was running now. Out into the yard. Barefoot and shirtless, in only his pants, but with a rifle in his hand. He was an excellent shot. He was small enough to shelter where adults could not. He sighted on the flash of the guns in the shadows. He fired again and again.

There were so few of those he knew and loved left standing. He edged round until he was covering the familiar figure. A man who led from the front. A man who would never give in. A man whose stubborn courage and tenacity his son had inherited in full measure.

The man turned. The flames lit his face. There was pride in his son, something he did not often allow to show.

"Enough! Take the others and run!"

He did not run. He would not run. Not while he had means to fight. His heritage and his training would not let him back down. He fired again and again until he ran out of bullets.

Only then did he sprint for the house.

The door was open. A woman's body lay across the threshold. He turned her over and saw the beloved face, anguished in death because she could not reach her children.

The living room and kitchen were full of flames. The fire raged through the house. A fallen beam blocked the door to the sleeping quarters. There was no way in.

He ran outside, around the house, furiously trying to find a window to get inside.

Thick smoke poured from every opening. It was impossible to breathe. It was impossible to get in.

It was impossible to forget the terrified cries of the younger children.

He carried them in his heart and mind and spirit. Carried them through a war and a trail of vengeance. Carried them as a mark of his guilt, his responsibility. Carried them until time and distance enabled him to understand how many actions and decisions besides his own had led up to that fatal moment. Carried them still because he had accepted his own part in the tragedy and made peace with it.

Now the young man shaped by that experience had something to share with Nathaniel:

 _Remember who y' named for. That's what made y' pa the man he is._ **…**

 **…...**

 **…** Nathaniel sat up abruptly. His eyes opened but he was not seeing the lake in front of him. He was seeing the hatch in the loft of the barn. Remembering how Slim's much loved younger brother had fallen and been killed. How his father had taken the blame on himself. How gradually it had become a part of who he was, shaping his attitude for ever as his already loving and generous heart vowed to take responsibility for others and to protect them. So many people had been helped by the man his pa had become, so many that the little burial place and the ranch yard could not contain them all.

His throat tightened and his eyes stung. His heart heaved. He let himself weep.

It took a while for the tears to die down and when they did, Nathan found himself strangely calm and reassured. He unhitched Traveller, giving the horse a thorough hug, since it was the only substantial being to whom he could express his gratitude and love. He mounted up and rode quietly back to the ranch.

In the yard, Mike looked up from the mare he was shoeing as the horseman appeared from the direction of Laramie. He recognized Nathan and Traveller instantly and gave a swift prayer of thanks of his own. After his own experience as a bewildered and grief-stricken eight year old, Mike knew from whom Nathan would have found the peace and healing which he needed so badly.

Andy too was just riding in from the opposite direction. He dismounted at the corral and waited for his nephew to join him. It was clear to him as well that hitting the trail with Traveller had made a real difference to Nathan and given him confidence to face his new life and responsibilities. Andy wished they could all go on such a ride. Yet he had faith that there were other ways which love would find to reach each of them with needful strength, wisdom and courage.

Andy lifted his eyes and took a long look around the familiar buildings and yard. The ranch was coming fully alive once more. It would not need him much longer. Soon it would be his turn to ride out. To follow the open trail across plains of earth and plains of sea. Something whispered across the strings of his heart and his soul that he must seek the love which had sprung to life through this tragedy, though he had no idea where it was to be found.

.

* * *

.

NOTES:

 **Sherman Family Tree in this chapter**

Matthew m. Mary

l

Mike Williams ... Slim m. Holly -+- Andy

l

Nathaniel -+- Matthew -+- Mary -+- Little ones

.

On Jan. 14, 1887, temperatures in Miles City, Mont., bottomed out at 60 below zero. The Laramie Daily Boomerang of Feb. 10, 1887, reported, "The snow on the Lost Soldier division of the Lander and Rawlins stage route is four feet deep, and frozen so hard that the stages drive over it like a turnpike."

John Clay wrote in _My Life on the Range_ , "… For years, you could wander amid the dead brushwood that borders our streams. In the struggle for existence the cattle had peeled off the bark as if legions of beavers had been at work."

This chapter refers to incidents in _Casket of Fears and Dreams_ and _Answers at Sunset._

The Library of Congress – history of automobile: Karl Friedrich Benz - 1885/86 - First true automobile. Gasoline automobile powered by an internal combustion engine: three wheeled, four cycle, engine and chassis form a single unit. – Germany

The first "drive-in" filling station, Gulf Refining Company, opened to the motoring public in Pittsburgh on December 1, 1913. Prior to this, automobile drivers pulled into almost any general or hardware store, or even blacksmith shops in order to fill up their tanks


	6. Chapter 6

.

.

 **6**

 **1912, Spring**

.

"Dear God in Heaven!" Andy dropped the newspaper into his lap. His hands were shaking so much he could not hold it. His face had gone white as the paper itself.

"What's the matter?" Mike looked up from the other rocking chair with brotherly concern.

"Yeah, what's the problem?" Nathaniel turned from Slim's old desk, where he was doing the accounts. He put down his pen and got to his feet, shocked by his uncle's stricken face.

"Tell us." Mike leaned forward, his eyes on Andy's. All he could see in them was horror.

Nathan went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of whiskey. "Here." He put it into Andy's hand and pressed his fingers round it until the older man could safely hold it. "Whatever's bitten you, you need some 'm.p.o.'!"

"Thanks!" Andy croaked. He gulped down the medicinal whiskey and sat for several minutes, composing himself. Then he picked up the newspaper again and read the headline to them.

" _Titanic, Giant White Star Liner, sinks after collision with an iceberg on her maiden voyage and 1,800 lives are reported lost in the world's greatest marine disaster_."

Silence fell. The room was completely still.

It was as if all life had been drained from their home by this appalling news. There was not so much as a crackle from the fire. No clatter of cheerful utensils in the kitchen where the women were preparing the midday meal. No sound of play from Nathaniel's youngest on the porch. No laughter from the barn. No creaking of the old pump. No wheels on the road.

"So many in a single day!" The whisper came softly from the kitchen doorway. "May God have mercy on their souls and on their poor families."

Andy had let the newspaper fall again. His head was bent over his clasped hands.

Nathan stood clutching the glass, his shocked eyes transfixed on the dreadful headline.

Mike leaned back in his chair, tipping his head as if gazing up to heaven, but his eyes were closed.

Moving as lightly and silently as the falling snowflakes in which she had first met him, Celestine came to Andy and put her arm gently round his shoulders. It was a long while before anything else happened.

The sudden rattle of the back door made them all jump. Small feet pattered across the kitchen and stopped abruptly. Then little Aaron's voice said anxiously, "Mama, what's the matter?"

The adults stirred. Nathaniel put the glass carefully down on the mantelpiece and moved stiffly to sit on the couch. In the kitchen doorway, Sarah turned and gathered her son in to her arms, saying to her daughter as she did so, "Go fetch the others, Mouse – quietly as you can." She carried Aaron into the room and sat down beside Nathaniel. Soon the other children, Elijah, Joseph and Mouse's twin, Rebecca, were led in by the smallest though not the youngest of them. Rayen, Mike's wife, followed close behind, shepherding them protectively though she did not yet know what the trouble was.

When Ray had sunk down on the rug at Mike's feet, Celestine asked for all of them, "What is it, Andy? It's more than just the loss of that great ship with all those lives."

There was a close tie to the tragedy for Andy. For many years he had journeyed around the world both as a vet and also as the part-owner of a thriving merchant fleet. The news of such a loss would naturally hit him and his business partners very hard, in addition to their natural human reaction to it.

Andy looked at the concerned faces surrounding him, faces which reflected the deep bonds between them all, the love and the courage which had carried them through so many challenges. Nate and Sarah with their lively brood, who now occupied the main part of the house, filling it with fun and laughter and practical jokes which he was sure Jess would have loved to join in. Mike and Ray, still living in the extension which had been built for them and their family by the massed forces of the kin and neighbors. Celestine, whom he had traveled so far to find and who, understanding his spirit, had traveled the world with him.

He drew a couple of calming deep breaths and told them quietly: "Celestine and I should have been on that ship."

More stunned silence greeted his words. Then Mike said, "Yeah, I remember. You suddenly rushed off early to bring her home."

"You're right." A small grin lifted Andy's lips. "I know you all thought I was so besotted I couldn't bear to be without her any longer!" He laid his hand over his wife's and continued, "Well, it's true and I am! But that's not the reason I went to France sooner than I had planned."

Celestine leaned over him, her long silky hair brushing his cheek as she whispered, "You can never arrive too soon for me!"

"You remember I was to meet Celestine and her family in Bordeaux?" Andy continued. "From there, because it was our twenty fifth wedding anniversary, I planned to take her back to Paris, where we spent our honeymoon. Then we were to go to England because I had been given - as a special thank you by a grateful businessman whose prized racehorse I saved - tickets to return home on the maiden voyage of the great new liner, the Titanic. The very same ship which we now know sank before reaching America."

"If we had taken that passage, we might never have returned home at all," Celestine whispered and her words struck a tragic chord for the family. They all encountered death in the course of everyday life, but it was nonetheless heart-wrenching to think of losing family members, especially in such a way.

"But you didn't?" Mike prompted.

"No. We returned by another way. Like the Wise Men in the Bible, we were warned in time. Or rather, I was warned." Andy paused a moment, rocking gently in the chair on the right of the fire, the chair facing the window. Presently he stilled and, as he went on, he seemed to become remote from them, wrapped in the recollection of a vivid vision.

"It was like this. I was sitting here, in this chair, late one night. I was missing Celestine terribly – even more than usual!" She was kneeling beside him now, her hands clasped in his as if they would never let each other go. "It was very quiet and still. You'd all gone to bed. I was alone with my thoughts. I was looking into the fire, thinking about sitting so many times, just like this, beside so many different fires with my beloved wife. The embers were glowing, but they still gave out plenty of heat. As I watched the flames and recalled love and happiness and gave thanks for everything Celeste and I have shared over all these years, the fire began to grow cold. But not because it was going out. No. The embers glowed brighter, harder and startlingly white. A single flame sprang up high. It was the color of ice and it did not flicker. I felt the cold begin to move up my body, starting from my feet. A freezing tide which rose and rose until I could no longer breathe. I thought I was truly dying. On the icy wind which blew round me, I could hear faint cries for help but I was powerless to move. It was as if I too had been turned to ice. A voice spoke to my heart with the uttermost urgency: " _Go now! Bring her home!_ "

After another silence, Andy seemed to come back to himself. "As you know, that is what I did."

"Thank God!" several voices exclaimed.

"And, under God, thanks to Jess too, I think," Andy said soberly and gratefully.

"Amen to that!"

Much later, when the day was drawing to a close and the evening light drew soft shadows across the hillside, Andy followed the path which his elder brother had so often taken up to the little graveyard. He sat down on the grassy bank which formed a small wall around the enclosure. It was entirely natural to come to this place, although some might think it morbid and some mad. But for the family of the Sherman ranch, from the smallest child to the oldest adult, whether they had been born into the family or joined to it in marriage, the spirit of the place was a real and much loved presence. They respected and honored those who had gone before them and they trusted in the truth that love is indestructible and ever-present. Each of them had had an unmistakable encounter of one kind or another with Jess Harper and sharing these was part of the powerful bond between them. Like the enchantment of poetry or some ancient legend of deep truth, the story of Jess's actual involvement with their lives called to mind something which Andy had once read: 'a tale which holds children from play and old men from the chimney corner.'

Presently Celestine joined him. They did not need to speak. Her company brought Andy back to awareness of his surroundings. He looked at the graves of his parents, and alongside them, their faithful friend, the custodian and healer of the family, Jonesy. Next those of his brothers whom he had never known and, with them, the brother he had had for a single day. Andy knew by heart the words deeply carved on that particular headstone: ' _A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.'_ Nothing could be truer of Jess. Slim's grave was close by Jess's. Holly had been buried with Slim in the same plot and over them were the words the family had chosen for them: ' _The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, which shines brighter and brighter until full day'._

Celestine's hand was warm and vital in his own. One day the two of them also would lie in this peaceful earth together, undivided in the full day which would come after. But at this moment, at ease though he was with the idea of mortality itself, Andy was profoundly grateful that they not gone to a graveless death in the cold seas. His life had been long and adventurous and he had been privileged to share it with an equal as a companion. It might have been thought his guardian angel had been hard at work all along, preserving him through the scrapes and narrow escapes of his many journeys around the world, but Andy knew in his heart that it was due in no little measure to the guardianship of a dark-haired drifter with a Texan accent.

.

* * *

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Notes

 **Sherman Family Tree in this chapter**

Matthew m. Mary

l

Mike Williams m. Rayen ... Slim m. Holly -+- Andy m. Celestine

l

(Mike's children) ... Nathaniel m. Sarah -+- Matthew -+- Mary -+- Little ones

l

Elijah -+- Joseph -+- Rebecca -+- Rachel (Mouse) -+- Aaron

.

The headline in this chapter is taken from the _Times Despatch_ , Tuesday 16th April 1912, published in Richmond, because, although of course Andy would probably have read the _Laramie Daily Boomerang_ (est. 1881), I can't access their report, if there was one.

Rayen - (Mapuche, Spanish Latin American) Means "flower" in Mapuche.

'A tale which holdeth children from play and old men from the chimney corner.' Philip Sydney, _An Apology of Poetry_ (1595)

'The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, which shines brighter and brighter until full day.' (Proverbs 4:18)


	7. Chapter 7

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 **7**

 **1933 - A Departure**

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"Young Miss spends far too much time up there in that graveyard!"

Elijah Sherman refrained with difficulty from glaring at his housekeeper. It was a statement she was much too fond of making.

"Her name is Rachel!"

It was doubtful if the formidable lady actually heard what Eli had said or, if she did, she ignored it. She was far too confident in her own ability to act as moral and social compass of the household and its affairs. Her disapproval of his sister and her behavior was forthright and unrelenting.

Eli was beginning to totally regret his decision to accept domestic help in taking care of his orphaned nephew and niece. It had initially seemed like a good idea. Thomas was only six and Lucy four and the pair were an active handful, needing wise and patient support as well as the stability of firm boundaries. Elijah was struggling with his own grief for Rebecca as well as trying to provide support for her devastated twin sister, known to the family as 'Mouse'. It was a nickname given not because she was timid, but because she had had such a bright-eyed, quick and curious interest in everything she encountered. It broke Eli's heart to see her so dull and pale, a shadow of her former lively and passionate self. Even the little ones did not rouse her from numb grief and they could not understand why Auntie Rachel no longer joined in their games or kept them amused in the evenings by spinning wonderful stories. It put even more of a burden on Eli when the two of them were the only adults, struggling against increasing and unrelenting pressure just to keep the ranch solvent and provide for the children.

Mrs. Myrtle Butler had seemed like a godsend at the time. Now Eli was wondering if she didn't come from the other camp altogether.

She had arrived in a rickety old station-wagon with a bicycle haphazardly strapped to the roof, which pulled into the Sherman gas station in the hope of fuel, only to find there was none – the worsening economic climate had already put paid to reliable deliveries and that in turn reduced their regular customers. In any case falling prices had drastically reduced a prime source of income for the ranch. Taking pity on her, they put her up for the night until she could find means to continue her flight from the big city in the hope of finding a more congenial home in Wyoming. But in the morning, breakfast was ready on the table when Eli came in from the early tasks in the yard. Admittedly she had used more of the precious food store than he would like, but her intention seemed to be good. The children were well-scrubbed, cleanly dressed and behaving with subdued manners which argued that the voice of authority had brooked no misbehavior. Mrs. Butler was an ex-schoolmistress and believed in a firm and consistent discipline. She was excellent at all aspects of domestic management and swiftly brought order to the disheveled house. Somehow the question of her moving on had been side-lined. She had remained and before long established herself as a force to be reckoned with, whether it was when to do the laundry, what plants to grow in the garden, how children should be brought up or the proper decorum for young ladies.

"Always messing about with those smelly camel things!" her refrain continued unabated.

Eli took himself and his exasperation out on to the porch. He could not blame a newcomer for being unaware of the pivotal part those ' _smelly camel things_ ' had played in the story of the Sherman family. He was not born when the inhabitants of the ranch-house had been startled by the arrival on their doorstep – or rather in their corral – of a small herd of alpaca, shepherded by a young woman, who in turn was escorted by her cousin and two peons, all of them mounted on llamas. They came, she said, with this gift of stock to the ranch in gratitude for the work Andy Sherman had done during his travels in South America, when he had saved the lives of some of her father's most valuable animals through his veterinary skills. The transporting of the little herd across such a distance, to a place as remote as Wyoming, was the stuff of heroic legend and had certainly been enshrined the family folklore. The men returned to their homeland, but the young woman remained to teach the Americans how to look after the animals and to win the life-long devotion of Mike Williams. She was Rayen, the flower who healed the wound Holly's passing had left in Mike's heart. Their children had grown up alongside those of Nathaniel and Sarah. Mike and Ray's youngest son, Lance, although older than Elijah, had been his best friend and the husband of his beloved sister, Rebecca. It was their children Mrs. Butler was looking after.

Mrs. Butler was, however, supremely uninterested in anything other than her own influence and status, concerned only to carve out for herself a secure place in her not so distant old age. Eli, like everyone else in the family, was well versed in the language of plants and had an uneasy feeling that the association of her name with marriage and true love was a bad omen. It was a considerable relief that her attempt to induce the children to call her 'Aunt Myrtle' met with complete failure.

Deep in thought about this and all his other problems, Eli moved off the porch and began to cross the yard. As he did so, his mind went to his sister and he lifted his eyes above the roof-line of the house to where the clearing on the hillside above was still visible, despite the tree growth over the intervening years. Sure enough, he could see Mouse, sitting on the south bank, close to the newest of the graves. Despite the opinion of Mrs. Butler and doubtless many others like her, Eli did not consider this to be excessive behavior; Mouse was not seeking to commune with the dead, but would find rest and tranquility in the place where so much love was honored.

Remembering the couples whose long lives, although full of challenges and dangers, had been happily lived together, Eli heaved a sigh. He knew, of course, that the ranch's resident Texan spirit was instrumental in enabling some of these relationships to be formed. He didn't ask why Rebecca and Lance could not have had the same span of years, but he did consider his own bachelor status and sent out a mute appeal: _Come on, Jess – I could do with some help here!_

As if in answer, the back door swung open and his nemesis appeared. "Oh, there you are, Elijah. Could you hold this basket for me, dear, it's rather heavy?"

Ever mindful that Shermans had manners, Eli dutifully took the basket of washing, which was of course extremely light, and followed Mrs. Butler to the washing line. He was not particularly thrilled to find that she was pegging out her own underwear.

"So good to be working together," she cooed ingratiatingly. "Sharing this blessed tranquility in the sunshine – OH!" The exclamation burst from her with unladylike loudness.

Eli ducked automatically. That was what you did when the Sherman ducks decided to air their wings, fly in formation low across the yard and attempt to perch on the washing line, which, when loaded, looked solid enough. He was used to it. Mrs. Butler was appalled.

"Oh! Disgusting things. Look what they've done!"

Pristine white underwear lay scattered in the dust where it had been ripped from the pegs. Ducks will be ducks, so it was soon pristine no longer.

Eli suppressed a chuckle. _What had set the ducks off? He didn't know, but he was grateful!_

It was the beginning of the end.

Suddenly, Mrs. Butler's bedroom was inexplicably full of freezing drafts, despite the otherwise balmy weather. Whichever oil lamp she took with her smoked abominably, though all the others in the house behaved perfectly normally. The children built forts in the mud at the edge of the pond, played hide and seek in the brier thicket, rolled down the mossiest banks and scrambled up the most lichen-covered trees – all of which produced a continual mound of badly stained washing and time-consuming mending if they were to be dressed according to Mrs. Butler's exacting standards. The yard cat, Mungo Xll, an obstreperous ginger in the fine old tradition of Sherman rat-catchers, brought every offering and laid it as Mrs. B's feet, hissing and spitting when commanded to do otherwise. The dog developed a sudden unassuageable craving for leather, especially large female shoes.

The end of the end came sooner than anyone had expected, least of all Mrs. Butler. Eli had persuaded Mouse to accompany him when he rode out to inspect the sheep and the alpacas. They still had a reasonable herd of the latter, but despite the rare quality of their wool and the beautiful garments which the Sherman women had learnt to weave from them, the market for luxury goods had largely collapsed. The only reason they weren't eating alpaca was because Eli recognized their long-term value, not to mention the place they had in the family memories. In the current economic climate, they were pushed to make money even from the sheep and had cut back on the number of cattle considerably. It was good to ride out together, though, and the fresh wind and bright sunshine brought some color back to Mouse's face.

In the mid-afternoon the pair of them rode home down the trail which came out at the huge oak tree on the corner of the near paddock, where so many Sherman and Williams children had played and climbed and swung on rope swings. As they approached, they could see Thomas and Lucy perched in the lower branches. Thomas must have hauled his sister into it because her legs and arms were certainly too short to reach the first holds on the way up. But they were not looking out for their elders. They were gazing back towards the ranch, their attention totally transfixed.

"What are they up to?" Mouse asked, a little smile ghosting across her lips.

"Baiting Mrs. B?" Eli suggested with a grin. The children had developed a number of ways of exacting pay-back when their freedom had been curtailed and they had been forced into quiet activities dressed in tidy clothes.

"Poor things!" Mouse looked guilty. "I must give you more help. It simply isn't fair to -"

She was interrupted by a yell from Thomas, who had just spotted them. "Quick! Quick! You gotta see this!"

"What's up?" Eli rode under the branch and held out his arms to Lucy, who dropped confidently into them without the slightest hesitation.

"Look!" Thomas demanded, pointing to the yard. "Sire's got mad!"

He certainly had and was pacing back and forth between the two doors of the house as if on sentry duty.

Sire was the biggest and oldest of the male llamas. He was so named not because he was the sire of the other llamas (in fact he was gelded), but because his face expressed such an imperious and supercilious certainty that he was king of the yard - a title which Mungo seriously disputed! He could be extremely territorial, which was very useful when he was running with a flock of sheep, as he would aggressively chase off most predators. He was usually quite tolerant of humans.

"She's been stuck in the house since lunch!" Thomas told them with glee. "He won't let her out!"

Eli and Mouse suppressed their chuckles. Mrs. Butler did not like the llamas at all and the feeling was obviously mutual.

"I'd better go and catch him," Mouse volunteered. She had no qualms about handling the animal on her own.

Sure enough, she managed to catch Sire without difficulty. Once the coast was clear, more or less, Mrs. Butler emerged from the house in a flurry of bags and bonnet. Yes, she still wore a bonnet. She saw no reason to give up the proper headgear of a well-connected lady.

To their surprise, she said nothing, not so much as a thank you for being rescued. Instead she almost ran towards the little barn, wheeled out her bicycle, heavily laden with a couple of cases strapped to the pannier and almost leaped aboard. Pedaling violently, she wobbled off down the road at high speed.

It was too much for Sire. He spat irritably, fortunately only in Mrs. B's direction, jerked his halter out of Mouse's hand and set off in hot pursuit, accompanied by three or four of the crias, the juvenile llamas, who in common with most young things had a fine sense of mischief.

It was almost too much for the humans too. The sight of a fussily dressed middle-aged female on a laden bicycle trying to out-run a posse of llamas was enough to reduce them to helpless giggles. But fortunately Eli had the presence of mind to drop a rope over Sire before he did anything more drastic than spitting and the youngsters came back willingly along with him.

Mouse was laughing until the tears ran down her cheeks as she leaned against the pony she had been riding. Eli's heart soared. It was the first time in the months since the fatal accident that she had even smiled. Now the creatures she had tended so carefully had brought out her laughter again.

"You dreadful beasts!" Mouse gasped as she admonished their errant livestock. "She won't dare come back and face you again!"

As if lightning had struck, she and Eli stared at each other. Then an entirely different laughter, the joy of freedom, welled up in them both.

The prediction was quite right. That was the last they ever saw of Mrs. Butler!

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* * *

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Notes:

Llamas in Laramie? Of course they were not tried out in Wyoming until the 1980s and then apparently not very successfully – but this is fiction, so they arrive a century earlier!

.

 **Sherman Family Tree**

Matthew m. Mary

l

Mike Williams m. Rayen ... Slim m. Holly -+- Andy m. Celestine

l

Mike's children inc. Lance ... Nathaniel m. Sarah -+- Matthew -+- Mary -+- Little ones

l

Elijah -+- Joseph -+- Rebecca m. Lance Williams -+- Rachel (Mouse) -+- Aaron

l

Thomas & Lucy


	8. Chapter 8

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 **8**

 **1933 – An Arrival**

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Joy was the keynote of their evening. Eli and Mouse sped through the end-of-day tasks, grinning happily at each other from time to time. Thomas and Lucy helped with an enthusiasm which somehow got them extremely grubby and did nothing for their previously neat clothes.

Eli did not insist they take a bath. This was not because the children disliked baths - quite the contrary. He knew they would love to play until the water got cold and that this would involve a great deal of splashing and a great many bubbles to wash away the memory of recent strictly utilitarian bathing. It would also take all night.

So they sat down, disheveled and exhausted but filled with a deep happiness, and did justice to the filling meal Mouse had produced. If their supplies were more depleted than they would have liked, they knew that, left to their own ways, they could grow enough food in the garden and the ranch would provide meat, fish, eggs, milk and cheese.

Once they had eaten and everything had been cleared away, the children were allowed one last scamper in the dusky yard before having a bedtime story – one they relished and not some edifying moral treatise. Mouse settled on the couch with a child on each side of her and began one of her enthralling tales.

Eli listened, his heart warm and happy for the first time for many months. They'd had a miraculous escape and his heartfelt thanks went out to the powers that be and their special family guardian. He was sitting in the rocking chair which had always been designated 'Pa's chair', although anyone could sit anywhere they wanted. The chair opposite him was still and of course empty, but the strange thing was, it _felt_ empty. Eli wondered about this. He hoped the sincerity of his thanks had been communicated clearly enough, but he couldn't shake the feeling something was not quite right in the room that night. He didn't want to disturb the new mood his sister was creating, but at last he could not stay sitting any longer.

He got up quietly, intending to pace the room a little, when his eye was caught by an odd shadow on the chimney breast.

His heart went cold!

"Mouse!"

She stopped speaking and looked up at him in surprise. Then her eyes followed his and her breath hitched in a hissing gasp.

On the right-hand side of the chimney breast, one of the largest stones was protruding slightly from the others.

Eli braced himself, walked over and pulled the loose stone further out. It revealed a hidden compartment built into the chimney by his great-grandfather to keep their most precious things safe.

He put his hand in.

It was empty.

"Mouse! It's gone. All gone."

"Everything?"

"Yeah. The locket with Ma and Pa's hair. Holly's necklace. The little bronze condor Rayen brought. The medicine bottle with Jonesy's herbal recipe in it. The gun they said was Jess's and the oilskin parcel. Even those unused tickets for the _Titanic."_

"And the money?"

"Yeah, that as well." Eli did not seem concerned so much about this. Indeed he was not. The taking of the other items, regardless of any monetary value, was the greater loss.

Brother and sister stared at each other in shock this time. _Who could have done such a thing? Who would even know the secret hiding place existed?_

At this precise moment, Lucy began to bounce energetically on the couch, singing at the top of her voice a little song she happily repeated to herself:

"She's gone away,

don't wanna to stay,

she's gone today,

gone, gone away!"

Eli frowned. _Could Mrs. Butler be the culprit? Surely not. She was far too respectable!_ But who knew what had gone on while he and Mouse were out on the range? Mrs. Butler was not particularly savvy as far as security was concerned and seemed to think that the countryside was a haven of innocence. She could easily be taken in by some itinerant and there were plenty of those seeking escape from the poverty of the city. Not all of them were honest.

Lucy, meanwhile was embellishing her song:

"She's gone away,

we can play,

she's gone today,

yippee,

hip-horray!

.

She's gone away,

she's gone today,

the cowboy said so,

hip-horray!"

"What cowboy?" Eli demanded in surprise. Until the children expressed their own understanding of Jess's presence, the family did not make a point of directly explaining it to them – he was a family member, not a story to be told.

"He's in the barn," Lucy said cheerfully.

"Right now?" Eli asked, gently this time.

"Yeah," Thomas contributed. "I guess he's tired. He's sitting in the corner of the second stall with one of the horses."

It was unusual to say the least for one person actually to see Jess, never mind two at the same time. Eli tried to keep calm as he told them, "I'll have a look when I do the night check." He took the keys from the desk, picked up the flashlight which was ready with them and went out. The barn was the first on his check list anyway.

Some instinct made him also take a rifle with him. He moved noiselessly, accustomed to the terrain of the yard and the barn, acutely aware of his surroundings, without needing to use the flashlight to guide him.

They only had two horses in the barn; the rest, in the interests of economy, were turned out. Eli checked the first stalls, on opposite sides of the aisle. Everything was in order. He would normally have locked up the barn and gone on with the rest of his check, but something made him walk further down the aisle, torch sweeping from side to side. Instantly the beam spotlighted trouble. In the second stall.

"Stay right where you are! Keep your hands still. Don't move."

Eli could see a shadowy figure, lying prone in the stall and partly covered in straw. He clicked the rifle bolt so the stranger knew he meant business.

"What are you doing here?"

"Getting a crick in my neck, looking up at you!"

The reply was delivered with a punch of humor, as if the speaker was willing to challenge him, despite being at a considerable disadvantage. But he was not entirely helpless – Eli could see that.

"Give me your knife. Take it slow."

Reluctantly the man handed it over. He did not seem to be otherwise armed.

"Alright, you can get up now."

There was an infinitesimal pause, as if the other was asserting his right to be a free individual. Then he got slowly to his feet, his every movement suggesting a high level of exhaustion. Eli faced someone of rather less than his own six foot three. The young man was thin and undernourished but there was a steely resilience in him which suggested he would not easily be intimidated or deterred.

"Where're you going?"

"Nowhere tonight!" The reply was delivered with that same underlying dry humor.

"So you planned on bedding down in my barn?"

"Is there a law against that?"

"Yeah. It's called trespass. As I guess you've seen enough of the wrong side of the law to know!"

The young man's chin went up and his fists clenched as if ready to defy the world and everything it could throw at him. "If that's all you see!"

"All I want to see is your dust. Heading down the road, any direction you choose."

"I'd be glad to oblige you, but I've already walked more than a fair bit from Cheyenne. I won't make it far if you're so suspicious as to throw me off your precious property."

"If you owned this spread, you'd be leery of strangers too. It's on the main Laramie to Cheyenne road and we get some passing by we're glad to see the back of."

"What would it take to convince you I'm not one of them?"

Something hung in the balance between them. Eli knew nothing about this stranger, except that he sounded sincere and was also in need of help. An unexpected tremor ran through his heart and his hands. The tradition of the ranch was to provide just such succor to those in need. He came to a decision.

"Put your hands behind your back."

The young man stared at him, clearly unwilling to place himself at a disadvantage.

"I'm going to tie your hands," Eli told him. "You can come with me while I do my rounds. Afterwards we'll go inside and talk. I'll untie you. I give you my word." It was the most he could concede, much though his heart was drawn to help the stranger.

"OK." The agreement was reluctant, but appreciative of Eli's position as protector of his property, not to mention those living on it. The young man was obviously willing to trust him.

They made the rounds in silence as Eli checked the livestock and the locks. It felt good to have someone with him, even though the circumstances were so strange. He missed his younger brothers, who had both opted to try their fortunes outside Depression-hit America. Joseph had followed Andy's route to South America and Aaron was currently working in France on the vineyards owned by the family of their Great Aunt Celestine. The young man with him now was evidently bone-weary, but nonetheless alert to their surroundings. He tensed up when Mungo prowled out unexpectedly from the shadows; it might only be a cat, but this human had no illusions about the dangers of the countryside.

Mouse's story was still going on when they came in through the kitchen and her lively voice made it seem that a host of characters were inhabiting the living room. Eli stopped by the stove and picked up the coffee pot, tilting his head enquiringly.

"Hell yeah!" There was no mistaking the longing in the young man's voice and his bright eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

Eli moved behind his captive and undid the rope around his wrists before handing him back his knife. It was a risk, but one he was prepared to take while his rifle was to hand. Then he poured them both a mug of coffee and led the way into the living room, indicating that they should sit at the table. Three heads came up on their entry, but Eli shook his and said "Finish the story."

It was not long before the satisfying climax was reached and the sleepy children were ready for bed. When Mouse had settled them in their respective rooms, she went straight into the kitchen. The two young men could hear rattling of dishes and pans. Soon she came back with a bowl of soup which she put firmly in front of the stranger.

"You look hungry."

"Hell, yeah!" The same enthusiasm as before. Then he seemed to recall his manners. "Sorry, ma'am. I'm just that grateful!"

"Well, get yourself on the outside of it!" she ordered and disappeared again, only to return with cheese and ham, bread and butter and a big bowl of fruit.

The young man's eyes widened as if it was a long time since he'd seen any such fare. He said nothing except a brief, heartfelt 'thank you' before tucking in with a speed which made their eyes water.

Eli took stock of the wanderer whom he had invited into his home. He saw someone probably several years his junior, but with a kind of wary boldness which, though contradictory, argued one who had a great deal of experience of the threats and dangers life could deal out to him. He was lean to the point of skinniness, but nonetheless tough and wiry. All the same, he did not look like someone used to working outdoors, for his skin had a pale translucence which they were to discover later resisted almost all the tanning efforts of the sun. His hair was cut very short, brushed back and slicked down, a rich dark chestnut in color, but speckled here and there with gold and silver lights for all the world like the plumage of a cock pheasant. The glints in his hair echoed the freckles on his face which was, like the rest of him, hard and uncompromising. A determined jaw argued that he was a fighter, but his mouth did not look mean and his whole spirit shone through his extraordinarily bright eyes. They were clear light grey, like pure water running over stones, and the iris was surrounded by a dark green-grey rim. His eyes were moving from the food to his hosts and back again with a kind of baffled wonder.

When their guest had finished eating, they all moved to sit by the fire. Eli took Pa's chair and Mouse curled up on the couch, which left Jess's rocking chair for the unknown young man. He sank into it and began to rock gently as if he had been there all his life.

"Now," Eli demanded, "tell us who you are and why you're walking from Cheyenne and trying to sleep in my barn."

"Yeah, trespassing on your precious property!" the young man retorted with a grin.

"Eli!" Mouse exclaimed, "You didn't say that to him."

"Well, he was," Eli replied mildly. "I just thought he'd be more comfortable inside, that's all." This was certainly the conclusion he'd reached by the time they'd finished the night-check together.

"I should think so!" Mouse told him, conscious of the ranch's long history of hospitality. To the young man she added, "Please forgive Elijah. He gets very protective. I'm Rachel, but you can call me Mouse."

"I can?" The young man's eyebrows - finely drawn eyebrows, several shades darker than his hair - shot up in surprise.

"Yes. And the children are Thomas and Lucy."

"Yours?"

"No, my sister's," Mouse told him calmly. "Her husband was an aviator. They were killed when his plane crashed ten months ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss." The words were conventional, but the young man's tone was not. He sounded like someone for whom grief was a familiar companion. He let a quiet pause rest between them before beginning his story.

"My name is Iarlath Donovan, but most people can't manage it when they see it written, so I go by Jarlath. You can call me Jay, though. I'm in the Tree Army. Working out at Mullen Creek."

"That's a way to go," Eli observed dryly. Nonetheless he was impressed with the young man's determination to get back to work even though it might mean a marathon walk. If Jay had signed up for the Civilian Conservation Corps it meant two things: he was not afraid of hard work and he cared for his family enough to travel far from home to support them.

"Tell me about it! I had leave to visit my family. Last train today broke down at Cheyenne. If I can get to Laramie by noon tomorrow I can have a ride back in the supply truck. So I thumbed a lift as far as some place the guy said was Turtle Rock and figured to walk the rest." A wry grin transformed his face once more. "Guess I underestimated what walking's like in the mountains."

"You won't have to walk any further tonight!" Mouse assured him determinedly. "Rest up now. You've traveled a long way."

Jay nodded. "From Chicago."

"Your family's there?"

"Hell, yeah. Didn't want to leave them. That place _is_ hell! But there's nowhere else which isn't just as badly off."

Eli shook his head, about to point out that there were advantages to living off the land, but Mouse was after more important information.

"Tell us about them."

"You can probably work out from the name, my great-grandparents emigrated from Ireland in '46." Another wry grin. "They were fleeing from hunger. Seems ironic now we're back to living hand to mouth. My pa built up his own business – carpenter, plumber, builder – until the mob got him for protection money. Ma died of scrubbing floors by day and slaving in a speakeasy by night to keep us kids – and of a broken heart. Runs in the family. My sister's man cleared off and left her with the twins – they're about Lucy's age. My little brother, Declan –" He stopped and bit his lip. "I don't want him growing up there. When times are hard it's too easy to fall for the easiest way regardless."

Something highly personal flashed across Jay's eyes, dimming their brightness. The next instant, shrugging it off, he gave a rueful laugh and added, "Oh and there's Gramma. She's a bit crazy, but still going strong and living with us."

"How old were you when you first had to care for them on your own?" Mouse asked.

"Can't hardly remember a time when I wasn't having to. If Ma didn't work we'd starve, so that's the way it worked out." He shrugged again. "You get used to it."

"And there's nothing you wouldn't do to fend for them?" An unpleasant but inevitable possibility had entered Eli's mind as he heard tell of life spent in the world of the violent city streets and speakeasys ruled by the mob.

Jay shook his head. Eli's eyes went to the chimney breast.

"Including taking our money and our valuables?"

Jay sprang to his feet and the chair clattered violently, like gunfire echoing through the room. "I didn't! Not this time!" His cool grey eyes suddenly blazed with fury.

Mouse sprang up too. "Elijah! I thought you had more sense! How could he conceal the money and the other things? Look at him – he's only got the clothes he's standing up in and not even a coat."

"I'll get out of here now." Jay's head was bowed as he moved swiftly towards the door. "I shouldn't 've let myself trouble you. Should've run while I had the chance."

He was gone into the darkness before either of them could move. Mouse gave a sob and Eli cursed and sprinted after him, completely forgetting to pick up his rifle. He raced towards the bend in the road going to Laramie, beyond which they had sited the gas station.

"Stop right where you are!"

The command split the night in a rough voice Eli had never heard before. Pulled up to the little forecourt which housed the gas pumps was a dilapidated truck with a large tanker hitched on behind it. A tall man was standing next to it.

"You the owner?"

"I am. But there's no fuel. Didn't you see the sign?"

The man laughed contemptuously. "Yeah, plenty of places are putting up signs and keeping the stuff for themselves. We're gonna take that fuel and grab the profit! Now get the generator going and start pumping."

"I tell you there's nothing to pump!"

The man strode over and seized Eli by the shirt before he could stop him. "An' I'm tellin' you to get on and fill the tanker. Or d'y want me and my mates to burn the house down? Yours won't be the first place we've torched!"

From behind the tanker, three other men emerged. One of them was holding a gas can and two of them were smoking.

"Put those cigarettes out!" Eli snapped at once, regardless of his position. "You want to blow the lot of us sky high?"

"I guess there must be some fuel to blow then!" the first man sneered. "I ain't gonna tell you again!"

He flung Eli towards the shed housing the pump so violently that the impact winded him.

"Not until they put them out!" Eli gasped determinedly.

The man turned to his companions and gestured for them to stub out the offending cigarettes. As he did so, the attention of all four was diverted and Eli seized the opportunity to fling himself at them, fists flying.

Surprise gave him the advantage. He knocked one man cold before a barrage of blows struck him back. The fight turned into a savage melee which Eli had no chance of winning with the odds at three to one.

But suddenly they weren't. Another body joined in, striking with deadly accuracy and delivering punches which would have done credit to a bare-knuckle boxer. Before long Eli and Jay were standing triumphant over four battered would-be thieves.

"I'll get rope," Jay said, wiping blood from his lip.

"Stay here!" Eli ordered. His eye was rapidly closing up, but he could see well enough to make out the surprise on Jay's face. "I know where it is. And," he added with a huge grin, "you sure pack a powerful punch, enough to keep the whole lot of them down single-fisted!"

Once the gang were secure, Jay straightened up and held out his hand. "I'll be on my way again now."

"Stay right where you are!" Eli repeated the command he had first made, but this time he did not reach for his rifle. Instead he ignored Jay's hand and grabbed him by the shoulders.

Jay's fists came up instantly, automatically, ready to defend himself once more. He just restrained himself in time from delivering another knock-out punch.

Eli shook him gently. "I make mistakes. I shouldn't have doubted you. You would not steal from us. Whatever you may have done wrong in the past, you never chose it willingly and my guess is you've paid for it many times in your heart."

Jay ducked his head, the little half-smile with which he always took compliments just making its first appearance for Eli. "Thanks," he responded, sounding positively shy. Then a thought struck him and he looked wildly around.

"Hey, where's Mouse? Was she out here?"

"No and she doesn't know you are either. We'd better get back inside soon. She'll be worrying you've gone for good or that we've killed each other."

"No chance!" Jay told him with a grin. "We're too equally matched – we'd just fight each other to a standstill."

"I hope we're friends too?" Eli suggested and got another big grin of agreement. "Then come on, there's a spare bunk waiting for you."

"Shouldn't we be taking this trouble-making bunch of crow-bait into town? I could drive the truck. It's on my way."

"Not at this time of night. The sheriff won't thank you and he might get the wrong idea, 'cause he doesn't know you. Let's sleep on it. Plenty of time in the morning."

"Till noon tomorrow, anyway," Jay reminded him.

They locked up their captives in the little barn and made their way to the house together for the first of many times. The door was opened eagerly for them and the warmth and the light and the aromatic smell of oregano streamed out to greet them.

 **# # # # #**

The drive into Laramie the next morning was not in the tanker-truck, but in the old horse-drawn wagon which, although slow, was more economical than running a car or a truck. The four malefactors had an uncomfortable ride in the back, which was no more than they deserved. Although it was not a particularly fast means of travel, they arrived in good time to hand the gang over to the sheriff and for Jay to make his lift back to Mullen Creek.

Seeing as they had time to spare, Eli led the way over to the café. "I'll buy you a drink."

"Don't you have to get back?"

"That's the beauty of being your own boss," Eli grinned. "As long as I'm back sober and before dark!"

Jay laughed. "Huh, a challenge! Next time we'll meet on an evening and I'll buy you a drink. If you drink, that is?" he added, knowing the relaxation of the law did not necessarily mean a rush for the nearest bar.

"I've been known to," Eli admitted, "but mostly for m.p.o."

"M P what?" Jay was puzzled.

"Medicinal purposes only. It's an old family saying!"

"Yeah, right. I hope they never prohibit coffee or I'll be breaking the law all the time!" Jay took a huge gulp of scalding hot strong black coffee.

 _He must have a cast-iron throat_ , Eli thought with amusement. As they had chatted along the road about their respective work and families, a plan had formed in Eli's mind. Jay had revealed that he was, like his father before him, a skilled hand at all kinds of building, making and mending and Eli knew members of the CCC were able to take on outside work to supplement their income. Now Jay had given him an opening to tackle the one thing which had to be cleared up between them before his idea could be put into action.

"Care to tell me what happened last time you did?"

There was a long pause.

"I was doing some work in a big house. Rich folks. No sign of them going short. The twins needed medicine and I wasn't making enough to foot the bills. I took some cash that was lying around. Not all of it. Just enough to cover what we needed." Another pause and a sigh. "I was lucky. The judge seemed to realize I'd never have done it otherwise. I got offered a choice: sign up or go to the reformatory. So here I am."

"Good. I'm glad you're here even if it was a bad way to come," Eli told him. Then he made his suggestion. "I could use an extra hand around the ranch. Wouldn't pay much, but you could work for other spreads and in town too. And I can guarantee we can feed you well off the land!"

Jay nodded slowly. "It's a fine place. This feels like good country. Maybe there's a real future here when we pull out of this mess we're in."

"Sure is. What d'you say? This could lead to something."

"Yeah. It sure could. Trouble!" Jay's eyes were sparkling with mischief, but Eli had no doubt any 'trouble' would be strictly on the right side of the law.

"Why don't we take that chance? When's your next day off? We'll talk it through and give you supper."

"All right, count me in and we'll see how it works out."

Thus were laid the foundations of a friendship which was to last a lifetime.


	9. Chapter 9

.

.

 **9**

 **1934 – Arrivals and Revelations**

.

"Move them here!" Eli insisted firmly. "We've another whole living space which hasn't been used since the Williams kids moved on and they'll be happy to have it lived in again. Bring your family here."

Mouse waited with bated breath to see what Jay would say. Since finishing his service with the CCC a couple of months ago, he had been working on and from the ranch full time, not only turning his hand to much needed repairs, but creating innovations in the ranch house plumbing which left everyone smiling. He was also putting to use the skills and knowledge he had gained in the CCC, had become a reasonably good rider in pretty quick order and, as he quipped, "begun to learn one damn' end of a llama from another!" He and Eli kept in contact with the CCC group at Mullen Creek, finding other workers job offers which required their specialized skills and also helping on several occasions with the fire-fighting duties the CCC carried out. In rare moments of free time, the two young men enjoyed a relaxing drink or several together in the saloon. But all this did not allow very frequent visits back to his family in Chicago and Mouse knew Jay was worried particularly about leaving Declan open to bad influences.

Jay was wide-eyed and speechless. Then he ducked his head sideways as he always did if very moved. When he finally spoke, his "Yes" was almost strangled by emotion.

No sooner had he uttered his consent than he was almost strangled by an enormous hug from Mouse. "I'm so glad! So very glad!"

Eli just looked at him and smiled a smile of deep affection and satisfaction.

Moving a city family to the middle of Wyoming was not, however, without its difficulties. Fortunately the young twins, Rory and Ryan, took to life on the ranch at once; in this they were ably educated by Thomas and Lucy, who were delighted to have more playmates. The four were soon inseparable.

The twins mother, Caitlin, became more relaxed as her children settled in, although almost everything in the countryside seemed potentially dangerous at first. Nonetheless, she maintained a calm and encouraging attitude about the twins' adventures, which suited her serene looks and temperament. Without any fuss, Caitlin applied herself quietly to learning the tasks which maintained the smooth domestic running of the ranch. She and Mouse took to each other at once, which was hardly surprising since Mouse was Jay's most fervent supporter and Caitlin loved him deeply for the unstinting care he had given to his family for so many years. This friendship gladdened Eli's heart. For himself, he could not believe anyone who had suffered the privations and rejections which had beset Caitlin could possibly still be so pure and loving. He was even more taken when he discovered her full name was Caitlin Áine and that the second name meant 'radiance'. Like Jay, she was a red-head and, with her deep auburn hair and liquid dark grey eyes, seemed, at least to Eli, just to glow. She was the radiance which drew him irresistibly.

While Eli was losing his heart Gramma, as she was affectionately known, established herself on the porch or, when the weather got colder, by whichever fire was brightest. Jay had warned them: "She sings tunelessly in Gaelic and makes love-rugs." This creative activity baffled the Shermans totally, but came into its own not long after Gramma had finished the first one.

The real problem was Declan. At first they all attributed his moodiness to being uprooted from what he had known all his life, combined with not unusual teenage angst. But when he kept close to Jay almost all the time, a small unhappy shadow who said little and was devoid of energy, it became obvious there was something deeper troubling him. Attempts on Jay's part to coax it out of him were unavailing until one day he saw Declan shudder as he crossed the yard.

"What is it?" Jay demanded in true ' _you can't fool your big brother_ ' tones. "What's frightening you?"

"Not frightened!" Declan snapped back immediately, but he clearly was. He shuddered again, then looked at his elder brother with anguish in his eyes. "I know you like it here but it's …"

"Not like Chicago?" Jay suggested with a twinkle in his eye. "You're right, it couldn't be more different, but it's a good place."

"It's a spooky place!" Declan burst out.

"Why d'you say that?"

"It's got a graveyard full of dead people hanging over it!"

"Oh. I see."

"And she's always sitting up there!" Declan's chin jerked towards his shoulder and, looking up, Jay saw Mouse sitting quite still on the grassy bank above them. He was so used to her habit that he never really gave it much thought until now.

"I don't think she'd sit up there if it was spooky," he said gently. "But if it worries you, let's go and ask her about it."

"OK." After a little hesitation, Declan grabbed Jay's hand in a way he hadn't done for years, but he did walk with him up the steep hillside path. Soon they were sitting beside Mouse on the bank.

"Declan wants to know why you sit up here in a spooky place full of dead people?" Jay said without any preamble.

"Oh, Declan!" Mouse flung her arms round him in a comforting hug. "It isn't spooky, it's full of love. And the dead people aren't here. They're free, living in light and joy."

"So why d'you come up here?" the boy demanded earnestly.

"Because I like to remember. I like to look at the headstones and remember why they have those words written on them and give thanks."

"Oh!" Declan pondered for a few minutes before obviously taking his courage in both hands. "So you aren't calling up the dead to come out and get us?"

"No, Declan. I believe they love us and look out for us, but they are not here. This is just the resting place of their bodies now that they don't need them any more."

More pondering was followed by the question: "Do you come up here for someone special?"

"They're all special in their own way, but yes – I come to remember Rebecca and her husband, Lance. She was my twin. I miss her very much, but when I look at the words we chose for her, I remember that when she died, she was living life to the full with the man she loved."

"Which is her?" Declan got up and tugged her hand.

"Here." Mouse led him to the gravestone carved with the words: ' _They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles_.'

"They were both very strong and very happy," Mouse told him quietly. "Come and look at the others too. They each tell a story of love."

They walked slowly along the row, the inscriptions getting fainter as the stones got older. Presently they stopped between Slim and Jess's grave.

"This one's got only one person," Declan pointed out. "Who was he?"

"A young man who came to the ranch alone and found a friend and a family who welcomed him. He met my grandfather, Matthew, and if Jess had not been killed very soon after, they would have been life-long friends."

"Like Iarlath and Elijah?" His use of their formal names reflected the seriousness with which Declan took such a relationship.

"Yeah. Hell, yeah!" Jay sounded as though it was a revelation and a promise to him both at once. "Except we're luckier, of course, 'cause we're both alive."

"Think of this as a place which strengthens life and encourages love," Mouse told them. And from that time onwards, Declan was able to settle down to just the normal ups and downs of teenage problems and challenges.

 **# # # # #**

While everyone else had been busy settling in, learning new skills and tasks and above all how to work as a team, Gramma had been quietly sewing. No-one quite understood her technique, but it involved a great many scraps of colored fabric, wool and ribbon. This naturally made her bosom friends with the local dressmaker, who still traded under the name ' _Miss Ellie's_ '.

One day Gramma got up from her chair on the porch and grabbed Eli, who was just going in for a well earned cup of coffee.

"Come with me, young man."

She led him into what was still known as 'The Williams Wing'. The table in the living room was entirely covered with a huge blanket. And not just any blanket. It was a woven and sewn picture of the ranch in its setting against the hills. It was evening and the moon was just coming up. The sky was full of stars and every star was heart-shaped. In the doorway of the house stood a man and a woman, their arms around each other, watching as five children played in the yard.

"Here you are, Elijah." Gramma rolled up the love-rug and deposited it in his arms. "Now all you have to do is claim her!"

Eli bent his head instinctively and rubbed his cheek against the soft material. There was the very faintest tang of violets and oregano. He smiled his thanks, too overwhelmed to speak. Gramma nodded and shooed him out of the house. She had another rug still to finish!

 **# # # # #**

Not long after this, Eli and Jay managed to send the household for a day out in Laramie and go fishing in peace. This was not a far-flung or very strenuous expedition. The lake on Sherman land would provide more than enough trout to feed the hungry mouths when everyone returned. Having successfully caught plenty in the morning and eaten a substantial midday meal, accompanied by a little home-made cider, the two young men lay back against a convenient log and tipped their hats over their eyes.

"We ought to have brought some paint," Jay remarked, ever the handyman.

Eli gave a non-committal grunt, followed by a teasing inquiry: "What are you trying to improve now?"

"That ' _No Trespassing_ ' board," Jay told him promptly. "You can hardly read the writing and I know from personal experience how important it is to you."

"Ass!" Eli swung a lazy punch at him, which was instantly parried. "I'm glad to see your fighting skills are still up to scratch."

"Yeah, they need to be if I'm going to call you out."

"Call me out?" Eli sat up in surprise. "What would make you want to call me out?"

Jay sat up too, suddenly serious. "My sister."

"Your -?"

"Do I have to ask you, sir, not to trifle with her affections?" It was obvious Jay's seriousness was only partly play-acting. "Are your intentions towards her honorable?"

Eli grinned and told his friend, "That's funny – I was just about ask you the same questions!"

"You were?"

"Yeah."

"Well I got mine in first, so I demand an answer right now. After all, you've got the love-rug and I haven't."

"I think yours is definitely not far behind."

"It is? Then I guess we're both in this equally."

"We are. We always are, my friend! Now, do I have your consent? You should know you have mine!"

"No one I'd rather give it to, brother!"

"I'll not let you both down. And we'll really officially be brothers!"

"Hell, yeah!" Then Jay ducked his head shyly. "If you think she'll have me?"

"I'm as sure of Mouse's answer as you are Caitlin will say yes."

"That's a hell-yes, then!"

With this pronouncement they shook hands solemnly, packed up their catch and mounted their horses to head for home without any further discussion. Both their minds were conclusively made up.

They followed a trail downhill and consequently rejoined the main road close to the junction with the Baxter's Ridge road. Jay was always on the lookout for anything which could possibly be made use of and today was no exception.

"Hang on a minute!"

He slid off his mount and dropped the reins, disappearing rapidly into the undergrowth which overhung a little hollow at the side of the road. Eli watched him with amusement, wondering what Jay's sharp eyes had spotted now.

"It's a bike!"

The words rang out triumphantly but sent a bolt of painful recollection through Eli. He bit his lip as his friend dragged the machine out of its resting place with no little difficulty.

"Must have hit something hard," Jay commented as he tried to spin the front wheel. "An animal, I guess – there's long hairs caught in the spokes. And I wonder why they didn't take the suitcase with them."

Eli was staring silently.

"What's up?" Jay asked in concern.

"Open the suitcase," Eli requested hoarsely.

"Ok."

The locks were rusty and broke easily. Jay lifted the lid. His eyebrows quirked and he said in surprise, "It's a damn odd set of things to put in a suitcase."

"What?"

"A bead necklace – looks like Mexican work. A little bronze –"

"Bird. A silver locket. Two tickets for the Titanic. A medicine bottle. A small oilskin parcel. And a gun."

"Yeah. You're right!" Jay sounded amazed. "How d'you know?"

"You remember the first night. When I accused you of stealing?"

"Hell, yeah. But you trusted me all the same."

"This bike belonged to someone I shouldn't have trusted. Do me a favor, will you, Jay? Give me the things and throw the bike and the suitcase back where you found them. Please."

A little while later they reached home where a tired but very happy family was waiting for them. There was even more happiness when Eli restored the family treasures to their proper resting place in the chimney breast.

Mouse was giving Jay one of her huge hugs, partly because he had found and retrieved the precious items and partly, as he would have said, for the sheer hell of it! When the pair finally released each other, Mouse stepped back, looking suddenly thoughtful.

"You know," she said to Eli, "I think when Sire was keeping Mrs. B penned up in the house, he was trying to prevent her leaving with our treasures."

"A psychic llama?" Jay teased. "I've heard it all now!"

"Why not, when we have a psychic treasure finder in the family?" she laughed in return. "But in this case, I'd say it was a loyal llama prompted by a wise spirit. Don't you agree, Eli?"

"Sure. It's just the sort of thing Jess would do. He wouldn't let anyone get away with stealing his gun!"

.

* * *

.

Notes:

 **Sherman Family Tree in this chapter and for chapter 10**

Matthew m. Mary

l

Mike Williams m. Rayen ... Slim m. Holly -+- Andy m. Celestine

l

(Mike's children) = Lance ... Nathaniel m. Sarah -+- Matthew -+- Mary -+- Little ones

l

Elijah m. Caitlin -+-Joseph -+- Rebecca m. Lance Williams -+- Rachel (Mouse) m. Jay-+- Aaron

l

Conall m. Mary (Eli & Caitlin's son) -+- Rory and Ryan (Caitlin's sons) -+- Thomas & Lucy (Rebecca & Lance's children)

... (Mouse & Jay's children)

l

Raphael -+- Gabriel -+- Michael (Conall & Mary's sons)

.

Federal law in Wyoming still allows burial on private land under certain conditions, so I have assumed the same law applied in 1933.

Although electricity and gas were available in towns at the time, it seems reasonable that homes outside the urban areas would still be using older methods of heating and lighting.

Other details from Wyoming State Historical Society website.

' _They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles_.' Isaiah 40:31


	10. Chapter 10

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.

 **10**

 **1978, A home-coming**

 **with a glimpse of 1952 and the man who was afraid to dance**

 _._

 _Finally!_

 _Going home._

 _He was going home._

Rafe Sherman kept his face resolutely turned towards the window of the bus as the familiar road unfolded under its wheels.

 _How long was it since he'd sped its length, glorying in the power of his first motorbike, seeking adventure in Cheyenne?_

It was long ago, in the days when the world was a less complicated and painful place – when his future and his fortune had been, as he thought, in his own hands. He hadn't known what he wanted then. He was not sure he knew what he wanted now. He was just going home.

He remembered speeding along, but the bus was doing nothing of the sort. He didn't care. The slower it went the longer before he had to face the inevitable.

He could not believe that he would not walk across the yard and see his father, leaning on the post of the porch, as he always did when he had a few moments. Leaning and letting his eyes travel around the yard, the barns, the paddocks, the hills rising across the road. He would not see the delighted grin light up his father's face as he came swiftly to meet his son. Conall Sherman was a big man, over six foot as Sherman males generally were, and muscled like a working rancher who spent much of his days in hard physical labor. Yet he moved like a dancer.

Conall was a dancer – now. An accomplished, confident dancer.

Rafe never tired of hearing his father relate the story of how, as he put it: " _My two left feet became inspired! I was a clumsy youth, tall and gangling, with hands and feet still too big for my body. I was a walking accident! Or more often, a stumbling accident. I was terrified of company, in case I crashed into a delicate female or broke a precious possession of hers. At local dances, I'd hide out somewhere so's not to be noticed. There was no way my partner, if I got so lucky, would survive my attempts at whirling and jiving. The only form of Rock and Roll I'd be doing was rolling on the floor. And then she found me. A girl who scarcely came up to my elbow. Who seized me by the hand and demanded: "Dance with me!". And I panicked of course. "I can't! I don't dance!" I blurted out. "Why not?" she demanded. "I'm afraid to!" She looked at me steadily. She smiled. She said: "Not with me, you're not." She steered me out into the school-yard and she said: "I'm Mary and you're Con. We're alone on a heavenly dance-floor and we can dance like angels!" And she smiled brilliantly as she made a sweeping gesture taking in the whole of that empty concrete space. "We're together. Together we can dance to the end of time." And we danced. We danced under a million stars shining like our hearts. We danced like the angels in heaven. We danced for the first time and we will never stop dancing!"_

It was a true prediction. His parents had gone on to become experts in several forms of dance, winning competitions and giving demonstrations all across the state. They danced all their lives together right to the end. Rafe could still see his mother's letter, the ink as graceful and flowing as she had been when she danced with Conall.

' _We had just finished breakfast. Con had gone out to sit on the porch and I said I'd bring him a last cup of coffee before he started the work he'd got planned. He looked up and smiled that smile, the one he usually saved for starlight. He said "Who needs coffee? It's the most beautiful morning because we're together. Dance with me to the end of time." He held out his arms. Then in an instant he was gone.'_

Gone.

The bus was climbing now. The scattered outcroppings and wind-cut pillars of rock dotting the mighty plains gave way to a steadily narrowing valley, leading up towards the distant summit still to be traversed before the land fell away to the high plain of Laramie itself. They rattled through a narrow canyon and Rafe recalled the tales he had heard of a Rebel raid and lost gold in the depths of winter, which had led to his many-greats grandfather's death. Then the land opened out, and the bus climbed and the road twisted and turned, at times passing over a river or dry gulch. In one of these another Sherman had lost his life saving the passengers in a stage-coach accident. Such recollections did not make Rafe gloomy – or not more gloomy than he already felt. On the contrary, he was heartened by the courageous lives his forebears had lived and the traditions of loyalty, generosity and caring they had been honoring at such a cost to themselves.

Soon the bus came over the last ridge and headed down towards his home. It had always given Rafe a thrill to look down at the ranch and imagine for a moment that he was riding shotgun on a stage-coach, especially when he was riding his Harley. But the road no longer wound its way down the ridge and into the yard as it had once done. The modern highway had been built across what had formerly been Sherman pasture so that it cut out the big bend through the ranch-yard and headed directly for the river. It was still steep, but it was straight. The old ford was still there too, but the river itself had long been bridged. The only reason the road wasn't carried by a viaduct from the ridge to the other side of the river was because the normally placid and law-abiding Sherman clan, aided and abetted by a host of Williams and Donovans, had mounted such a protest against having to look at it every day for ever – and they happened to have a distinguished civil engineer among their number!

"Sherman Ranch stop," the driver informed his passengers as he drew to a halt.

Rafe had already shrugged into his rucksack. He picked up his crutches, edged his way along the bus and cautiously descended the steps.

"You gonna be OK walkin' up there, son?" the driver asked kindly, although it was not clear what he could have done about it if Rafe's answer had been negative.

"Fine, thanks." Rafe nodded in acknowledgement. The driver would not know him from ten years ago. _Hell, practically nobody would know him now!_

"Find peace at home," came an unexpected call from somewhere down the bus among the fellow travelers he had been so studiously ignoring.

Rafe nodded again and raised a hand in thanks, his voice choked by his swelling heart. There could so easily have been a far different wish for him.

He swung along the old road, which was now more or less a driveway to the Sherman Ranch. The diversion of the highway had not helped the gas business, but they still got some passing trade. They probably needed it even more now. He was aware that things had not been easy during the last five years, though he had been away for most of it. The early death in childhood of his youngest brother, Michael, from polio had inspired the middle one, Gabriel, to make a career in medicine and research into the disease. This was how Gabe himself came to die in a typhoid outbreak while he was carrying out research and giving medical aid in the slums of a far-off Indian city. Bringing him home to the family burial plot had cost his parents dearly. Rafe knew that stock had had to be sold, including the moderately famous alpacas and llamas.

Such a sale would have hurt his grandparents too. His two sets of grandparents. For as long as Rafe could remember, his grandfather, Elijah, and his best friend, Jay, had worked the ranch and Conall had worked in partnership with them. Rafe's earliest recollections were of riding passenger with one of the three men – Pa, Gramps or Granjay – whenever he could wrangle it. Elijah and his wife had raised five children – Thomas, Lucy, Rory, Ryan and Conall - but only Conall was their actual son. Jay and Rachel, at the same time, had their hands full with their own brood. Since Eli's wife was Caitlin and Rachel was always known as Mouse, their grandchildren had unanimously named them Grannycat and Grannymouse! With six active adults and a horde of energetic youngsters, all of whom were totally committed to the ranch, it had flourished after the Depression and through the following decades. It was a sorry blow, losing those two dear Grannys, who slipped away quietly during the course of the years. Gramps had moved into the Williams Wing with Granjay then. Rafe's heart quickened at the thought of seeing the two old men again and he hoped his arrival would cheer their hearts. He knew his father's death must have been an untimely shock and would have required all their steadfastness to face.

He was so preoccupied with these thoughts of the past that he was almost in the yard before he registered the number of cars parked there and along the old road.

Rafe frowned. _What call had the neighbors to get so neighborly all of a sudden?_

But it was too many for just neighbors. It was not anyone's birthday. No-one knew he was coming home, even if they wanted to celebrate the fact …

Suddenly he knew. He knew what but he did not know who.

If he had been able to, he would have sprinted the last yards, leaped onto the porch and burst into the house from which he could now hear the subdued murmur of many voices, to demand an answer to his fears. But he was no longer sure of his right to demand an answer to anything. Besides, if he tried to hurry, he would end up falling and making even more of a helpless fool of himself. He crutched his way steadily, determinedly, on but his heart was screaming out the terrible question: _Who? Who this time!_

The kitchen door opened and his mother came out. She seemed to heave in a great breath, as if she needed the air in her lungs after the crowd inside. She saw her son.

"Raphael!"

"Ma!"

Mary Sherman opened her arms and he limped into them. The crutches made it an awkward embrace. They rather stood leaning against each other, torn and shaken by the profound depths of joy and grief together.

"It's Elijah," she told him at once, sensing his distress. "Just like Con. Out on the porch, first thing in the morning. He must have got up early. Jay found him."

Rafe shook his head. He could not imagine those two doing anything separately. It was terrifying that this was the one thing each of them had to do alone. The thought pierced him to his broken core.

"You don't need to come in," Mary said, understanding how hard it would be to face the neighbors under these circumstances. "Go into the wing."

Rafe straightened up and took his courage in both hands. "Granjay's in there?" He indicated the main house with a jerk of his crutch.

Mary nodded.

"If he can, I can. Home is where I should be."

 **# # # # #**

 _Coming home! It was so much more difficult than he had thought._

The realization that his mother had been keeping the ranch running with the help of two old men and whatever hands she could afford to hire hit Rafe hard.

 _Why had he not come home sooner?_

The answer was simple. He had been coming home. A single choice and a single action had turned the journey of a few days into a saga of eighteen months. Aside from the amputation of his shattered leg below the knee, his internal injuries combined with infection affecting kidney and liver function, not to mention serious head trauma, meant that he was lucky to be alive at all. Months of enforced isolation, recuperation and rehabilitation had kept him from his family and the sheer distance and expense involved had kept his family from him.

 _He would not regret his decision. If he had not taken the impact of the getaway truck from a routine urban robbery, a child and a mother would be dead._

The irony of it all did not escape him. He had endured and survived so much, only to be cut down on the streets of his own country. He had saved a mother and child at the cost of any wife and child he was destined to have.

That cost weighed heavy upon him in more than one way, when he began to try to live again at the ranch. He had once expected to return and take over the demanding physical tasks which the owner of the ranch had always fulfilled, even if for them help was close at hand in the form of brothers and friends. He had no brothers or friends left. He had not expected to return a near-helpless cripple.

Every single task, from the simple matter of getting out of bed in the morning to bedding down the livestock at night required double, treble, quadruple the energy and concentration he had once had to give to it. He was unable to take his father's place properly, or even Elijah's. He was weaker and less use than a seventy year old man and felt it, despite the fact that Granjay just supported him in everything he attempted with unswerving trust and encouragement.

Worst of all, Rafe was trapped in the close confines of the house and yard. Shermans had always had the freedom of broad horizons and the wide sweep of mountain and plain. He was chained to a small space. He could no longer drive an ordinary car. Buses stopped but were not frequent or regular enough to provide a means of transport into town for some escape. In the barn, his beloved Harley, the light of his life and one of the things he had treasured in hope during the long years before he was released to return, lay idle and gathering dust. A man without a leg could not ride a motorcycle.

Rafe accepted he was destined never to ride again. With this resolution in mind, he crutched his way over to the barn one mild summer morning. The sun was scarcely up, but he had not been able to sleep. He had crept out of the house, hoping the tapping of his crutch would not alert his mother. He intended to go to the barn and get the Harley cleaned and polished up ready for sale. That at least he was capable of doing.

As he slowly crossed the yard, the gentle waft of cool air brushed his hair and face. It was scarcely light, but some of the warmth of the previous day seemed to linger and the air was fragrant with the smell of herbs. _No, just one herb. The one the family cherished. Oregano. Sharp and stimulating and newly picked._

Rafe had always loved this time of sunrise when the whole world of a new day seemed to be his.

The barn smelt just as sweet as always – hay and horse and herbs rising above the inevitable and more mundane odors. At least, slowly but surely, he had been able to help keep the barn clean. The hired hands deferred to him as if he had been there all along. His years of practical knowledge, gained through working beside his father and Gramps and Granjay, had not been lost or erased from his memory by subsequent events.

 _Despite this, he just felt so powerless!_

The horses were all turned out at night in this season, so he was surprised when a bright shaft of light from the barn door lit up a horse standing quietly in the second stall.

"Watcha doin', boy?" Rafe crooned softly, raising a gentle hand for the horse to smell.

The horse huffed over his hand and bent its head so that he could pull its ears and run a hand down the firm curve of its neck.

"Too beautiful a morning to be stayin' inside," Rafe told it.

The bars of the stall had already been slid back, which was why the animal had been able to wander in. _It must be some kind of escape artist to get out of the field in search of an early feed_ , Rafe grinned to himself as he went into the stall too. When he looked around for a halter to lead the horse out, he saw instead a bridle and saddle on the partition, worn but well-kept gear which had seen hard work over the years.

He bridled the horse and, on a sudden impulse, just to see if he could, he saddled it as well. Then he led it out into the yard, the reins clutched in one hand while he used his crutches, fully intending to turn it out again with its companions in the near pasture before finding how it had escaped in the first place.

The intention came to nothing.

The sturdy Western saddle seemed to exude comfort and a degree of safety. After all, it was designed to keep the rider on board during the most taxing of maneuvers. He knew there were no rogues among the few horses they still owned, although he had not yet handled them enough to know them individually.

 _Could he? He could only try!_

The horse turned its head and nudged him, huffing another warm breath over him.

Rafe led it over to the porch, where the steps would give him a little height to help mounting. He tested and tightened the cinch. Now he just had to get on. Something made him joke to the animal: "No, I ain't takin' a running leap over the hitching rail, whatever you're used to!"

The horse stood stock still. Rafe leaned his crutches up against the rail and seized the horn of the saddle to keep himself upright. Now he was standing on his left leg with no obvious way of getting the what remained of the right over the horse's back. The height was just too much.

But Rafe was a Sherman. Determination was his middle name. _It could be done and he was going to do it!_

He had not been idle during recuperation and while he could not get up and exercise in the normal way, he had developed considerable upper body strength. Now he used this combined with a carefully directed hop-up into the stirrup. He hung poised for a moment. _It was not impossible!_ He swung his damaged leg over the remaining height and landed safely in the saddle.

The subsequent ride was magical. The horse seemed to have a mission to take care of him. He really didn't need to do much riding, but just allowed himself to be carried quietly and surely in the growing light. They went along the drive to the old ford, splashed through it and then took the very minor road which branched off towards the disused cemetery. Presently a track took them uphill to the Sherman lake.

Rafe smiled. He and his brothers had spent many happy hours swimming and fishing here. When they reached the old _'No Trespassing'_ sign he slid from the saddle to land by the remains of a fallen tree, which still afforded a seat for anyone not too fussy about moss and bark stains.

At first the place was all quite shadowy and dim because of the surrounding trees. He sat for a long while watching the broad, bright rays of the sun stealing across the water and lighting everything with gold.

It spoke to him.

When the time came to return, he had no difficulty in hopping up into the saddle with the help of the old log. The horse carried him gently and surely home.

In the kitchen, his mother was preparing breakfast as usual. She handed him a mug of coffee and remarked, "You're up early."

"You know I love this time of day! I went for a ride."

"A ride?" Mary looked disconcerted.

"Yeah. The little bay Quarter Horse in the second stall. He took good care of me. I enjoyed it …" Rafe's enthusiastic voice faded away as he registered the shock now transforming his mother's face.

"A bay Quarter Horse with a white star on its forehead?" she whispered.

"Yeah."

Realization dawned. Rafe felt as if the solid ground had suddenly turned to vapor underneath him. He had ridden a warm solid horse who should by rights be no more substantial than a cloud.

He and Mary stared at each other in wonder.

 **# # # # #**

From that time on, Rafe rode every day. Out of the few remaining horses he selected two sturdy, sure-footed mustangs to train in the ways he needed them to co-operate. Kneeling so that he could mount was one. Responding solely to neck-reining and verbal commands rather than leg aids was another. Carrying his crutch behind the saddle a third. This last was not too successful until Granjay, who could still turn his hand to anything, fashioned him a walking aid which would fold and could be locked open if necessary. It was not perfect, but Granjay had adapted the foot so that it was safer on the rough terrain of the range.

Rafe's heart lightened with the reminder of past skills and the sense of purpose which he had been given in the dawn. Nothing would mend the ultimate damage which the accident had done, but he would not waste his final days in useless frustration and helpless anger. He watched over and shepherded their remaining stock, moved them to new grazing when necessary and checked the miles and miles of boundary fences his ancestors had established. Sometimes he had a strong sense of them riding alongside him, keeping him company in the work they had all done. Sometimes he just felt a single presence, a brother, a friend. Especially when the warm wind ran through the flowering grasses.

The ranch continued to struggle financially, although it still fed them bountifully. But they made little from their stock and had only intermittent custom at the gas station. Cars were more efficient now. People did not want to turn off the main highway.

Most people, anyway.

Late one afternoon Rafe rode down the slope behind the barn. From this elevation he could see they had had customers. A group of half a dozen motorbikes was wheeling and revving on the gas pump forecourt. They had obviously filled up and were ready to depart. All except one rider and his passenger.

Sahara, the dun mare, was light-footed and her approach was silent. They had scarcely rounded the corner of the corral when Rafe could hear the clash which was taking place to a background of catcalls and cursing from the other members of the gang. None of them noticed the approaching rider, least of all the man who was abusing the slender girl confronting him.

"You should've got rid of the thing! How d'I even know it's mine, you lying whore!"

The man twisted the girl's long hair and wrenched her flat on her face. His boot raised to kick her in the belly.

"Get your damn hands off her!"

The horse reared high over the man, who screamed involuntarily at the sudden danger.

"And get the hell off my land!" The stock-whip cracked within an inch of the man's face.

Rafe swung the mare round in a tight circle, challenging the disconcerted bikers. He let the mare paw and strike out again, her silver shoes flashing in the sunlight and her solid muscles radiating power. Then he wheeled back to the end of the yard and urge Sahara into a charge, brandishing the stock-whip for all the world like the flail of a medieval knight!

A horse weighs around half a ton.

An angry rider on an agitated horse weighing half a ton bearing down with sudden, furious speed –

The bikers were full of empty bluster as they belted their machines into action and took off. The abuser was last to get aboard and barely skidded out from under the horse's nose in a cloud of dust. Rafe did not stop his pursuit until the gang hit the main highway.

As the roar of engines faded into the distance, he soothed Sahara gently before turning her and ambling back to the yard. The girl had risen to her feet. She was standing in the middle of the yard, her clenched hands on her hips, her bleached hair a tossing, tangled cloud. Staring down the road. When Rafe halted his horse beside her, all he got was a furious yell.

"What the f – ing hell d'you think I'm gonna do now? Walk to New York?"

So much for rescuing damsels in distress.

From behind them on the porch there came an amused chuckle. Granjay put down the rifle he had been holding and extended a hand, his bright eyes twinkling with appreciation.

"Welcome to the Sherman Ranch. I'm Jay Donovan. Come on in, miss, and have some coffee before you try to wear out your boot-leather!"

 _The old devil still knows how to flirt!_ was Rafe's first thought, but it didn't take more than a second to appreciate that he had been given the opportunity to dismount without an audience. By the time he'd turned Sahara out and got himself into the house in a dignified manner, Sunny Agnellini was firmly established at the table, being made much of by Mary and Jay.

She was three months pregnant.

 **# # # # #**

That summer was the sweetest Rafe had ever known.

This was utterly unexpected, as it could not be said Sunny's disposition lived up to either of her names, at least not at first. She was feisty, fiercely defensive and foul-mouthed. She had never had a stable home or known the trust or care of another human being. In many ways it was like taking a wild animal into the house. But in the Sherman family tradition there had been enough tamers of wild animals for the genes to continue working.

Once she found that Mary, Jay and, above all, Rafe were as tough in their own way as she was, Sunny stopped trying to prove herself. When she understood that they genuinely wanted her to stay, she stopped demanding to be put on the next bus. When she realized that there would always be good food on the table and a warm bed to sleep in, she finally began to relax just a little. It took a further while for her to help with the chores and she was never much of a hand with any of the domestic ones.

She reveled in accompanying Rafe on his expeditions around the ranch. She never learnt to ride a horse, but she was an expert on a bike. No sooner had she discovered the Harley in the barn than she was astride it, her face lighting up with pleasure, as her world – the violent, unpredictable world she had lost – gave back to her something which she valued and which freed her to be useful. Rafe was uncertain about the wisdom of her riding the bike, but she was as tough as any pioneer woman who had traveled vast distances to give birth in the back of a wagon. It was also impossible to deny the affirmation of skill so similar to the one he himself had received.

They went everywhere together. They worked. They fought. They laughed. They supported each other. He respected her fierce independence and she honored his hard-won wisdom. Both of them had to face the future with courage. Together they were able to face each day with surprising joy.

Finally, however, there came a time when even Sunny had to admit she was getting too big to ride the bike. This was much to Mary's relief. She knew that the girl had little concern for the limitations of her condition or for the health of the child she was carrying although she had stopped smoking when she ran out of weed. Having a bored, resentful and increasingly physically uncomfortable Sunny about the place all day was not an enticing prospect, but this was better than a miscarriage. At least she was making a real effort to stop swearing.

It was Jay who came to the rescue. He no longer did much building and laboring but had taken to making things with his hands. Whittling and carving produced items of quirky beauty and revived skills he was willing to share with his unexpected pupil. Jay's latest enthusiasm, however, was clockwork mechanisms. It was an amazement to them all that Sunny took to the tiny, intricate workings, which required such patience and control, as if she had been born mending clocks. Soon the pair had acquired quite a reputation and the little business even began to make some money.

One clock, however, defied both their efforts. It was only a simple carriage clock, with all the workings showing through its glass sides, but no amount of cleaning, oiling and adjusting would get it to start.

"That clock's got a mind of its own!" Jay declared. "It'll go when it's ready or not at all." He set it on the mantelpiece and resumed his perusal of the newspaper. He would reserve his energy to spend on another less recalcitrant piece.

Mary and Sunny were together on the couch, the older woman giving the girl a relaxing foot massage. Rafe was sitting in Pa's chair, though no child would ever call him by that name. The quiet evening underwent a subtle change when Sunny shifted carefully so she could look at Jay, rocking gently in Jess's chair, and made an unexpected observation.

"Y'know, the darnedest thing happened the other evening," she said, staring hard at him. "I was here on my own. You two had gone into town and Mary was visiting the Travers. I was working on that damn thing –" she pointed to the clock, "concentrating real hard. I looked up and there you were, sitting in that chair, rocking just like y' doing now – and smoking a cigarette."

No need to point out that Jay did not smoke. Had never smoked. The other three looked at Sunny, sensing there was more to come.

"It was so real I could smell the smoke, but it must have been some kind of weed 'cos the herbs in it were so strong. The next minute, there was no-one there!" She looked uneasy and even a little afraid. "I'm not going mad, am I?" Her hand went instinctively to her bump, though whether in protection or blame it was hard to decide.

Mary and Jay both smiled and shook their heads, leaving the explanation to Rafe.

"It's a kind of welcome to the family," he told Sunny. "You really belong here if you've seen the cowboy in that chair."

"You mean he's a ghost?" her voice squeaked in disbelief.

Rafe shook his head. "He's the spirit of the place. It's a good sign."

He knew the idea in his head had received a blessing if Sunny had seen Jess Harper. Two evenings later, as they were sitting on the porch together, he proposed to her.

"You know I can't offer you much. I've little time left. But I can give you and the child a name and a home. What d'you say?"

"It'd lead to trouble!" Sunny told him firmly.

"Let's take that chance."

"I can't!" She bit her lip. "I should have moved on all those months ago."

"Not even for a short while? You won't be tied to me for long. You'll still be free."

They stared at each other intently, intimately, in the gathering dusk. Then Sunny shook her head vehemently.

"You want a son to inherit, Rafe, but that isn't fair."

"How can it be unfair to him?"

"Unfair to you, you dummy! Who says this," she slapped her stomach, "is going to be a boy? And who says it'll be a good rancher? That's not fair to you!"

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Rafe!" Her lips trembled just a little, but she would not stop. "We're bad blood, this kid and I. Both of us. We have no tie to the land, to any place. This place is in your heart and soul. Your family has sweated blood and tears and courage and darn'd stubbornness to make the ranch what it is – a home of safety and loyalty … and joy."

The last word was just a whisper.

"I can't do this to you."

The next day she was gone. She took the Harley.

 **# # # # #**

About a week later, the phone rang.

"Yeah?" Rafe was in no mood for polite conversation with potential customers, although he'd want to kick himself later, if it had even been possible.

"Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"God, you sound like one of the damned."

"Yeah."

"You gonna come in and fetch your Harley?" It was Karl Haber, still running the family automobile business in Laramie. Rafe winced at the tact which avoided suggesting he ride it home.

"For it to sit in the hay and get dusty, Karl?"

"At least it ain't eatin' the hay! Cheaper to keep in than a horse."

"Yeah."

"Is that all y' gonna say, man? Or do I have to threaten you with fees for garagin' it?"

"You took it in."

"The chick left it for you. A real cool chick. Surprised she could still ride a bike in her condition, but she said she was travelin' on by train and just borrowed the bike t'get to the station."

"Yeah." By this time Rafe sounded both baffled and irritated, but he was concealing that in his heart he was touched by Sunny's honesty and stubborn courage – and deeply bereft.

"So? What d'you want to do with it?"

"I want you to sell it, Karl."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, it's too good to stand around waiting for someone to enjoy riding it."

"It's worth a dollar or two," Karl reminded him. When Rafe made no response, he agreed: "Alright. I'll bank the money for you."

"No."

"No? Well, that makes a hellava change from yeah!"

"Keep it. When I'm gone, buy a drink for every Laramie boy who made it home."

"Ok." Rafe heard a gulp at the other end of the line. Not everyone wanted to think about his future. "If you're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. And if they need anything, any help, use the money to do it, as long as it lasts."

"You're sure you don't need the money yourself?" Karl knew how hard the ranch had been hit financially as well as emotionally just recently.

"I'll have no use for money, Karl. It won't be long now."

 **# # # # #**

 _Come on! Let's ride!_

Rafe sat up abruptly in the darkness of the bunk-room. He was completely awake in the way he had not been since rousing for a night patrol, so long ago and so far away.

 _Come on! Now!_

He dressed quietly, without putting on the light. Somehow now light and darkness were the same. He went quietly out of the house, his crutches making no noise. He locked the door behind him. He wanted the home to be safe.

He crossed the yard. Over his head the vast sweep of the night sky was sparkling with a million heart-shaped stars. Just like the old love-rug which still lay on his parents' bed.

When he reached the barn he was not surprised to find the bay horse in the second stall, waiting. A snort of greeting and a huff of warm breath touching his face was an invitation. There was no saddle or bridle. No obvious way to mount. He laid his crutches aside. He leaned in trust against the solid, comforting warmth of the animal, then took hold of the rough mane. The next instant he was astride.

This time they did not stop at the lake. This time they climbed effortlessly further and further, far up into the smoky blue heights, which thrust like exultant arms into the heavens where the new day was opening in all its bright glory.

At length they gained a point where they could look down over the whole of the Sherman spread. It was a place of eagles - a pure, clear lifting of the spirit to all that was and is and will be. A place where the curtain between heaven and earth had been rubbed thin by faith and trust and courage and sheer endurance.

The horse halted on the edge of the precipice.

Together they gazed out at the sky-meadows, at the dark and white horses galloping free, at the shards of sunlight flying from their hooves like beckoning fingers.

Rafe leaned forward and pulled his mount's ears gently. The horse gave a soft huff.

"Yeah – you're right. Time to go home, Trav."

In the kitchen of the ranch far below, her hands covered with the dough of that morning's bread, Mary stilled and looked up.

 _He's gone._

 _._

* * *

.

Notes:

A passing reference to Leonard Cohen's ' _Dance me to the end of love'_ and a sideways nod to _The Hard Ride._

Harley Davidson price in 1978 = c $3,500

The cliff from which Rafe leaves this life features in _Eagle of Bone._ The geographical features of this chapter, of course, bear no resemblance to the real Laramie, but are loosely based on the show.


	11. Chapter 11

.

.

 **11**

 **1980 - Valediction**

 _._

 _Finally._

 _She had at last taken the final step._

 _It was complete now._

Mary Sherman stood in the little graveyard, her hands full of treasures and her heart overflowing with loving memories. She was doing what the family had decided and agreed to.

It had taken her quite a while to contact them all, but it was necessary, now Jay had gone to join Eli. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of the evening she had found him, sitting in Jess's rocking chair, the chair which always fitted him. The carriage clock was in his hands. His heartbeat was still. The clock was ticking.

So they had come. Shermans and Williams and Donovans – they had come from all over America and, in the case of Jay's kids and some of the others, from the far corners of the globe. Those who could not come had been in touch by letter. She had even managed to trace Sunny and the little boy she had born. She had asked them all what they wanted to do about the ranch and the answer was clear: it deserved to be loved and lived in, but no longer by Shermans. In all their variety, Shermans and their kin were living the life of the family in so many other places and planting seeds of those values which were its foundation: trust, hope, generosity, loyalty, courage, wisdom, joy.

Time to let go and move on.

Now, in the cool clear light of evening, the stars shone down on Mary, their silver hearts pouring out a benediction. She moved slowly along the row of headstones.

Jay and Eli lay close together, their resting place marked out for them with their wives. It was tempting to bury the clock with Jay, but something about its cheerful ticking spoke of earthly life and made her leave it on the mantelpiece. Instead she tucked into the turf the intricate Nativity puzzle Jay had carved for his children. And for Eli and Cat, the drawings they'd kept which their family of five had created. Next came her own boys, in a plot which had fortunately been wide enough to take all three of them – for them she had the last photograph of their whole family together. With Rebecca and Lance had already been buried his Aviator Wings. Into her own parents' grave, she returned the silver locket which contained their braided hair. Andy and Celestine were easy – theirs were the tickets for the Titanic, worth, no doubt, a small fortune to a collector, but priceless in the family history. Ray's bronze condor went to the grave she shared with Mike. The Mexican bead necklace to Slim and Holly. In faithful Jonesy's grave, his trusty herbal remedy. For each, she slipped the token under the raised turf like sliding a love letter into an envelope. When she came to the west end of the row, to Matthew and Mary, her sister in name, and to their sons who had not survived, she had no gift but the tears which dropped onto the soft turf in acknowledgement of their founding of such a loyal family.

Last of all, Mary turned back to the only grave besides Jonesy's which would only ever have one occupant. She knelt and ran her fingers over the faint lettering on the weathered stone.

 _Jess Guerra Harper. 1870. A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity._

Two treasures remained. The gun she was able to give back to him, but when she opened the little oilskin package, the fragile fabric of the silk shirt with its dusting of dry herbs was unpicked by the slight evening breeze and disintegrated, blowing away from her and from the owner's grave as if to show that ritual was important but real and eternal life even more so. All that remained was a knot of bright blue wool. Mary put it in her pocket, next to her heart.

Mary stood and walked back to the last grave in the row – Connall's. His dancing shoes had been buried with him. She smiled because he was so very much alive and waiting. She thought of all that this part of the ranch had meant to the Sherman family over the last hundred years. The importance of the little graveyard might seem odd to the new family, but she did not want them to be inhibited by the presence of those who had gone before.

"This is a place which strengthens life and encourages love," she had told them. "Let it grow into a wild garden and enjoy it."

"But your husband's buried here. Won't you want to be …"

Mary had shaken her head. "Wherever I am then, I know I'll be with him. He was always a free spirit. And if I'm not here, he'll enjoy finding me." And her heart said, ' _Then we can truly dance for all time on heaven's floor_.'

 **# # # # #**

Back in the house, her final duties completed, Mary moved the stone concealing the hiding place in the chimney breast for the last time. In the cavity she placed a little bunch of fresh flowers and herbs - violets, sage, thyme, oregano and rosemary - tied with the bright blue strand of wool. With it she put a brief note, explaining the meaning of the plants and their significance in the Sherman family history. Then she replaced the stone. The scent of the fresh herbs might lead the family to discover it or it might not: that was for the future to decide.

Mary tossed another log on to the open fire which still heated the living room. She sat down in Pa's rocking chair and began to rock absently, her mind preoccupied with all that had happened.

 _The young family were ideal. Of all the people who had come to look at the ranch, they were the only ones interested in its history. They'd asked so many questions, pored over the pictures and were delighted with the old sepia prints dating from the earliest years. They wanted to ranch – horses, not cattle or sheep or even alpacas - but they weren't starry eyed and seemed to appreciate the challenge of making the land pay._

A warm draft drifted over her skin, with the familiar scent of oregano. The rocking chair opposite moved infinitesimally. Mary smiled affectionately.

 _Then there were the children, of course. The deal had been as good as done when the little girl came wandering out of the barn and told her parents: "This is a good home. The cowboy says so!"_ _And of course there was no-one to be seen when her parents inspected the building, exclaiming over the way the original fittings had stood the test of time. The little girl was not put off: "He says to tell you we're welcome!"_

Mary looked across the hearth as she had done so many times in the years of grief. Grief for her man, for her sons, for the men of the family, for the Sherman Senior name which she alone bore now. Oh yes – there were other Shermans out there in the wide world, far and near, the ones she would visit in her travels. But they would not be the eldest son of the eldest son of the original family, not the direct bloodline of Matthew Sherman who had first perceived and nurtured into being the dream of this place.

"You understand, don't you, Jess?" she addressed the gently rocking chair. Over the years she had formed the habit of talking to him aloud. It wasn't necessary, but it had comforted her at the time when Jay had shut himself away in the other part of the house, wrapped in his own silent grief, and Jess's thoughts were the ones which answered hers. He understood grief and love and loyalty.

Mary heaved a deep sigh. "I'm the last and I – I'm not even a true Sherman!"

She felt the vehement shake of his head. Jess counted her as a Sherman, blood or not. By this time he probably counted as a Sherman himself although the barely discernible writing on the headstone said his family name was 'Harper'.

"You understand," she said again. "They're a good family. Hard-working and sensible." She felt his chuckle too, as if the description struck a chord for him. She knew he approved. "You told the child they were welcome."

The chair seemed to rock a little harder though there was nothing to make it move.

" _Be excited! Be joyful! Hit the trail! Follow the wind across the Big Open!"_ it seemed to say _._

"Very well! But I'm for my bed now. Big day tomorrow!"

 _Sleep well, Mary._

She slept that night the sleep of the child whose home the Sherman Ranch would become. The next morning she was up at dawn, packed her minimal remaining belongings and was ready to hand over the keys.

The family were early and the parents apologetic. "She's been up since sunrise!" the mother explained. "She wouldn't even let us wait for the packers. She just insisted we bring the horses over first."

"That's good!" Mary told them. "The place has been too quiet since the last of my stock went."

"Mummy, come on!" The little girl tugged her mother's arm impatiently. "The cowboy says they need to settle in right away."

The mother rolled her eyes. "Seems like she's brought her imaginary friends with her," she said ruefully.

"Cowboys always appeal to the imaginative," Mary smiled, "and this has always been their home, as you saw in the photos."

"It's been your home for a long time too, Mary," the father said gently. "Where are you headed now?"

A warm breeze faintly scented with oregano ruffled Mary's white hair. She spread her arms wide, embracing the horizon. "Out there. I'm sixty seven and I've never been further than Denver. I'm riding with the wind!"

A wide grin transformed her careworn face and she strode off towards the barn. "I'll be off and let you get your horses in and settled."

But as she came into the old building she saw, as she had once or twice before, the star-faced bay horse in the second stall along. Mary drew a deep breath.

"You ready to go too?" she murmured tenderly.

Then she lifted her helmet from the hook in the wall and wheeled the black motorbike out into the yard, where the family were busy unloading the trailer.

Mary took a last look round the yard, the corrals and the buildings. A hand touched her cheek and a feather-light kiss was placed on her forehead. She felt the rider hop up into the saddle of the impatient mount right next to her.

" _God go with you, Mary!"_

As she settled her helmet and swung a leg over the bike, Mary saw the cowboy and his bay horse leap into a gallop, not on the road but into the skies, and in that instant fade like a shadow on the wind.

"The angels ride with you too, Jess!" she murmured, "and bring you to your family and your eternal home."

Then she zoomed off herself down the road to freedom. Her heart was content at last, not least because she knew that Jess Harper was safely home in the company of all those he had loved and protected so long.

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* * *

'

Notes:

Acknowledgement: _For all chapters: The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors._

 _Grateful thanks as always to Westfalen for the original inspiration for this story, for ideas which shaped it and for such thorough assistance in researching the background and proof-reading. Any mistakes are mine._

 **NOW**

 **If you would like to know more about why this all happened, turn to Chapter 12,**

 **the give-away part which I didn't include at the beginning when Jess first reaches the ranch.**

 **And to see the full Sherman family tree go to Chapter 13.**


	12. Chapter 12

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 **12**  
 **An Altercation of Angels**

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"Welcome, Jess! You are free –" The enthusiastic words of the welcoming seraph, whose name happened to be Eleutherios, stopped abruptly.

"Huh?" A most un-angelic interjection. "Where did he go?"

The question was largely rhetorical since angels naturally knew exactly where any of their assigned spirits were.

"Home," came the apparently absent-minded response of Eleutherios' superior, the archangel Zadkiel. Of course angels are never absent-minded, so Zadkiel's response simply indicated a serene acceptance of things as they were working out.

"But this is his home! I'll go get him!" Eleutherios vanished in a flash and a glow of celestial light.

Zadkiel looked up from the angelic equivalent of checking stock-lists on his iPad. Since time did not exist, Eleutherios and his charge should have re-appeared immediately or at least in the twinkling of an eye. The smooth brow of the archangel might have shown the slightest suspicion of a frown and the non-existent breath of the archangel might have heaved an impatient sigh – except neither of these human reactions could be applied to angels.

What actually happened was that Zadkiel ticked off another couple of angelic columns of names, cast an all-encompassing gaze over the million or so souls for whose smooth transition from mortal life the archangel was responsible, and decided there was enough space in this segment of eternity for them without immediate need for expansion, which would allow him to investigate what the d - … what in the name of goodness was holding Eleutherios up.

Transferring to the appropriate location without thought or effort, Zadkiel arrived in the middle of an argument. But angels do not actually argue. Maybe 'altercation' is a better description. Such an occurrence had not happened often on Zadkiel's watch, as it were, but since there is no time differential in eternity, it felt as if this was yet another immediate example of human intransigence.

"But you must come!" Eleutherios was insisting. "You're free now."

"If I'm free, I ain't takin' orders from a fella in a nightshirt!" the newly released spirit replied with determination.

"It's not a nightshirt!" Eleutherios was momentarily diverted. "Angels don't wear clothing."

"Y' mean y' actually look like that?" the ex-cowboy was also side-tracked, but regained the advantage before Eleutherios could get in. "And I don't care who y' are or what y' wearin', I ain't movin' from here."

"You can't possibly want to stay here." Eleutherios was dumbfounded.

Zadkiel did not grin because archangels don't. It was just another near thing. It was pretty obvious that the seraph was contending against an immovable emotional logic. Zadkiel's job, however, was to make sure subordinate angels carried out their duties effectively and to provide additional guidance when required. Eleutherios was, after all, a relatively very new seraph – given that, like Jess Harper, this angel had only just appeared in eternity.

Sure enough, Eleutherios was appealing to higher authority, telling Zadkiel with what, in a mortal, would be sulky petulance: "He says he intends to stay here. In this physical location."

"Really?" Zadkiel almost-sighed. "Then let him."

"LET HIM?!" Seraphs do not shout. Nor do they use excessive punctuation. Nonetheless, Eleutherios expressed a considerable degree of flummoxation.

"Persuasion and command seem ineffective," Zadkiel pointed out gently.

"But –"

"Eleutherios, angels are obedient servants."

Zadkiel turned full angelic attention on the defiant individual sitting in rocking chair in the small but warm and cozy ranch-house room. There was a heavenly scent in the air. The archangel's aura glowed a soft, appreciative violet. For a moment, thoughts of bare mangers flitted across the archangel's mind. Not everywhere on earth were human dwellings so hospitable. But despite being under no time constraints, there were a million or more souls requiring attention and this matter must be settled.

"Why?"

Stern resolution filled the young man's face as he looked the archangel up and down. "Y' may be bigger'n that one, but y' ain't gonna make me leave."

"I am not trying to make you leave. I want to know why."

"Why what?"

"Why you prefer to stay here rather than be free in your eternal home."

"This is my home!" The depth of sincerity and loyalty and love was like a bolt of celestial lightning. "This is my home. He invited me. They want me."

"Why?"

"I guess I'm useful. Not afraid t'work. Not gonna let them down."

"Why?"

"You get paid for how many whys y' can get into a conversation?" the young man demanded sarcastically.

"I am merely trying to divine the facts. For the records." Zadkiel tapped the angelic iPad with the tip of one wing. "Why?"

"We trust each other," Jess Harper responded softly. "We met in the middle of hell on earth and we trusted each other. We always will. When it comes down to the big things like right and wrong. Like carin' for the earth and its creatures. Like havin' patience with a kid. Like keepin' each other's backs. And when it comes down to the small things – workin', sharin', laughin' –" He paused a moment and added very quietly, "Listenin' to another's heart and soul and knowin' it beats to the same rhythm as yours. That's something t' live by."

Zadkiel nodded. "How?"

Jess grinned cheekily. "On, y' got more'n one question, have y'? Well, I guess the answer is I've gotta job t' do. Gotta help. Gotta make sure they're all right even if I can't be there in m'body. Gotta watch over Andy - over the whole family." For suddenly he realized he could see and understand everything now.

"Hmm. The whole family." Zadkiel's wing-tip tapped again. "That would be the Sherman family."

"Yeah."

"Very well." With the flick of a wing, Zadkiel moved a single name from an endless column into an extremely small one. "I think we can grant you temporary temporal location as the spirit of the place while members of the Sherman family, direct descendants in line from eldest son to eldest son of the original founder, are resident there. And I suppose you are also going to require special dispensation between time and eternity for that faithful steed of yours?" There was a timeless pause in which the archangel received a slightly stunned nod from the recalcitrant one. "Over-sight and guardianship for you and the horse, but with some limits on your powers of interference in respect for human free will. Will that do?"

"Yeah!" Jess's smile was wide and wholehearted. "Spirit of the place sounds good. It's a good place!"

"But a spirit of place is –" Eleutherios began to protest.

"Eleutherios, spirits are not limited to narrow definitions of the expected."

"But –"

"And angels don't argue!"

Jess Harper smiled again and rose from the chair.

"Thanks" he told Zadkiel. "I guess I'll see you fellas around."

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Notes:

Zadkiel (Christianity, Judaism ) Angel of freedom, benevolence and mercy. Zadkiel is associated with the color violet. I've taken the liberty of promoting this angel to archangel.

Eleutherios (Greek) Seraph of freedom or liberty


	13. Chapter 13

**Sherman Family Tree**

Matthew m. Mary

l

Mike Williams m. Rayen ... Slim m. Holly -+- Andy m. Celestine

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(Mike's children) = Lance ... Nathaniel m. Sarah -+- Matthew -+- Mary -+- Little ones

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Elijah m. Caitlin -+-Joseph -+- Rebecca m. Lance Williams -+- Rachel (Mouse) m. Jay-+- Aaron

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Conall m. Mary (Eli & Caitlin's son) -+- Rory and Ryan (Caitlin's sons) -+- Thomas & Lucy (Rebecca & Lance's children) ... (Mouse & Jay's children)

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Raphael -+- Gabriel -+- Michael (Conall & Mary's sons)

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 **Sherman Epitaphs**

Headstones reading from right to left (west to east). Jonesy's grave is at the head of the line, to the right of Matt and Mary, not in his correct chronological place - this is not to exclude him from the family, but because he was, above all, their friend.

 **Jonesy**

'A faithful man shall abound with blessing.' (Proverbs 28.20)

 **Matt and Mary**

'According to the grace of God which is given unto me, as a wise master-builder, I have laid the foundation.' (1 Corinthians 3.10)

'Her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.' (Proverbs 31:10-11)

 **Their sons**

'Neither can they die any more: for they are equal unto the angels; and are the children of God.' (Luke 20.36)

 **Jess**

'A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.' (Proverbs 17:17)

 **Slim and Holly**

'The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, which shines brighter and brighter until full day.' (Proverbs 4:18)

 **Andy and Celestine**

'For the good angel will keep him company, and his journey shall be prosperous, and he shall return safe.' (Tobit 5.21)

'In her is an understanding spirit.' (Wisdom of Solomon 7.22)

 **Mike and Rayen**

'Mine eyes shall be upon the faithful of the land, that they may dwell with me.' (Psalm 101.6)

 **Nathaniel and Sarah**

'The wise shall inherit glory.' (Proverbs 3.35)

 **Rebecca and Lance**

'They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles.' (Isaiah 40:31)

 **Eli and Caitlin**

'Such as be faithful in love shall abide with him.' (Wisdom of Solomon 3.9)

 **Jay and Rachel (Mouse)**

'Blessed is the people that know the joyful sound: they shall walk, O Lord, in the light of thy countenance.' (Psalm 89.15)

 **Mike, Gabe and Rafe**

'He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy.' (Job 8:21)

 **Conall**

'Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing.' (Psalm 30.11)


End file.
